by Jay Allan
He could hear the sound of metal boots stomping hard on the rocky floor of the access tunnel. Mike Barnes walked into the command post and stopped, snapping to attention and saluting crisply…at least as crisply as possible in armor.
“Cut the saluting nonsense, Mike. Let’s just say battlefield conditions apply…” – he looked around the room, making a waving motion with his arm – “…even if we’re technically out of line of sight here.” Teller had been a hardass for military formalities as a junior officer, but he’d seen too much since then to give a shit about that sort of nonsense.
“Yes, sir.” Barnes walked across the room, a medium sized cavern that had been dug out by plasma torch, he guessed. “The enemy has pulled back, sir. I estimate their losses at approximately 300. We had 7 killed and 11 wounded.”
Teller sighed softly. “How many of those 11 will survive? We’re trapped in these poisoned tunnels…the medics can’t even take the wounded out of their suits in here.”
“Jim, we’d probably all be dead if we’d stayed on the surface. At least in here we’ve repulsed three all-out attacks with a casualty differential of at least 10-1.”
Teller nodded. “Yes, this is a strong position.” He sighed again, clearly unsatisfied.
“What is it, sir?” Barnes could see Teller was concerned about something.
“Alright, Mike, let me know what you think of this.” He cleared his throat. “The enemy doesn’t have any armored vehicles or air power. We don’t either, but it’s because we had to scrape up what we could while the rest of the Corps was off fighting the First Imperium.” He paused and turned to face Barnes. “Why don’t they?”
Barnes hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t have enough data to give you a good answer, but if you want a semi-educated guess, I’d say they have limited transport.”
“Exactly what I came up with.” Tanks and aircraft required enormous transport capacity to move from planet to planet. Even large inter-planetary forces tended to field extremely limited quantities of these weapons, and it was entirely plausible a force with an inadequate number of transport vessels might have none at all. “So why no nuclear weapons?”
“Well…again, if I had to guess, I’d say they want the planet intact. That they’re here for the long term…as conquerors.”
“I agree again.” Teller tapped a control switch, and a tactical display appeared on the main screen. “But that’s not a physical constraint like too few transports. That’s a discretionary prohibition they could drop at any time.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Jim.”
“Look at the display.” The screen showed a rough schematic of the mining complex. “Put yourself in the enemy’s shoes. The high command wants you to take the planet intact, so they deny permission for nuclear strikes. We’ve done the same thing more than once.”
Barnes was nodding subconsciously as he listened. He agreed with what Teller was saying, but he wasn’t sure where the whole thing was going.
“Then you run into a heavy enemy strongpoint, a position like this one…almost impossible to take in a head on assault. At least a conventional one. What do you do?”
Barnes thought for a few seconds before answering. “Well, if it’s a situation like this, I’d cover all the exits and starve them out.”
“A siege?” Teller seemed to be rambling a bit, but his voice was totally focused. “Of course…that’s what I’d do too. Your enemy is dug in with limited supplies. Powered armor can recycle piss and shit with remarkable efficiency, but they can’t hold out forever without resupply.” He angled his head, looking up at Barnes. “So you lay siege.”
Barnes didn’t say anything…he just looked down at the seated figure of Teller, wondering what the general was getting at.
“So you’re going to starve them out. Having made that decision, do you send in a heavy assault? And, after it turns into a bloody mess do you send another? And another?” His volume was rising, not quite a shout, but loud nevertheless. “Because that’s what they’ve done. Does it make sense to you?”
“No, not really.” His voice was tentative…then realization crept into it…firmness. “Unless you had serious time constraints. Some deadline to completely pacify the planet.”
“Or maybe you’re concerned about pinching out the defenders before they are reinforced.” Teller softened his tone. “Holm and Cain and the rest of the Corps will get back from Sigma 4 eventually. And these guys need to have the planet totally under control so they can mount a defense if the Corps invades and tries to take it back. Otherwise, they’ll have hostiles behind their backs, while three-quarters of their strength is tied up manning siege lines around an enemy fortress out in the middle of nowhere…far from the inhabited areas of the planet.”
“OK…I agree with everything you’re saying.” Barnes’ voice was steady, but there was confusion there too. “But what does that have to do with nukes?” Even as it came out of his mouth, realization was starting to set in.
“What do you do in the situation we just laid out? If you were at the top?”
There was a short pause before Barnes blurted out his answer. “I’d authorize a nuclear attack on the mountain. It’s far away from anything useful, and a localized attack won’t materially damage the planet. These mines are even played out. There’s nothing worth a damn for 300 klicks around here.”
Teller stood up slowly, looking right at Barnes. “So unless we make the extremely baseless assumption that a large invasion force trained, armed, and equipped to Marine standards lacks any nuclear arsenal whatsoever…”
“We better expect a nuclear bombardment.” Barnes finished the thought. “We might be able to go deeper, get our command and control down to a survivable level, but the guys manning the defenses will be sitting ducks. And if we pull them down too, the enemy will just follow us, and we’ll have a running battle underground. That’ll just be a bloodbath for both sides…and their numbers will tell.”
Teller reached out and put his gloved hand on Barnes’ shoulder. “But if they’ve got some 50 megaton bunker busters in their supply train we’re just…”
“Fucked.” Barnes finished the thought again.
The general stood in the center of the control room, his enormous bulk clad in a charcoal gray duty uniform. He was a massive bear of a man, and overweight besides. His figure dominated the room, almost oppressively. He was staring at the tactical readout on the main screen, considering the situation on the ground.
Raphael Samuels had been the Commandant of the Marine Corps, a position he had only been able to obtain with the aid of Gavin Stark. He hadn’t been fully aware of the form that aid would take until two of his rivals for the position turned up mysteriously dead. Then it was too late to go back.
That deal with the devil came back to haunt him, leading him farther down a path controlled by Stark, one that eventually forced him to become the greatest traitor in the history of the Corps. His treachery brought considerable rewards, including enormous wealth and a spot on the Alliance Intelligence Directorate. Now he was the field commander of another fighting force, the Shadow Legions. And the most hated figure in the history of the Marine Corps.
“Is this report reliable?” Samuels was surprised. He didn’t see how Elias Holm had managed to put another strike force together, not with the strength Cain had taken to Armstrong. The Corps had been gutted by the rebellions and the war against the First Imperium. There just weren’t that many Marines left to fill the ranks.
“Yes General Samuels.” Like all the Shadow troopers, his aide was utterly disciplined and well-trained, if a little deadpan and boring. They were just like the Marines, he thought, but without the difficult personalities. There was uniform quality across the ranks, an almost unrelenting sameness, even between officers, non-coms and privates. They were extraordinarily competent, but they were missing something, the spark that powered true brilliance. He doubted they would produce any Erik Cains or Elias Ho
lms, but he’d put their rank and file up against any outfit the Marines cared to send his way.
Damn, Samuels thought, bringing his attention back to the current campaign. If we’re going to have to defend against another Marine landing, I want Teller’s people dealt with first. His troops were already fighting both the remnants of the native army and Teller’s force…the last thing he wanted was a third front.
The Marines were an unexpected factor. James Teller may have run off half-cocked and gotten himself in trouble, but he’d also thrown a wrench into Samuels’ plans. The entire incursion had been a complete surprise, allowing Admiral Davis’ task force to fight its way to the planet and cover Teller’s landing. The naval units had since been overwhelmed and destroyed, but the Marines on the ground had put up a stubborn fight, drawing strength away from the pursuit of the Arcadian forces. Samuels’ troops had contained the natives, but they’d had to divert most of their strength to face Teller’s army, leaving insufficient forces to finish off the Arcadians. Now they were up into the really rough terrain, and it was going to take a lot more effort – and a good portion of the troops currently facing Teller – to root them out of the hills and destroy them. Unless he got rid of the Marines immediately and reinforced his troops facing the Arcadians, he’d end up with that third front for sure.
He sighed. Arcadia wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. He’d expected to be long gone by now, the planet conquered and pacified. Instead, he’d been tied down in orbit dealing with the fallout from Teller’s intervention instead of accompanying the strike force heading for Armstrong as planned. And that force was going to fight Erik Cain…if there was someplace he needed to be, it was Armstrong. If there was going to be trouble somewhere, he’d expected it would come from the Corps’ stone cold killer himself.
Maybe, he thought, Admiral Liang could beat back the invasion force and prevent Holm from landing. He clung to that hope for a few seconds, but he knew it was unlikely. Garret had not taken the bait to remain at Armstrong…he was on the loose somewhere. His ships would almost certainly accompany Holm’s transports. And Admiral Liang would never risk the Shadow Fleet in a straight up fight with Garret’s full strength. Indeed, he’d already begun withdrawing all of the damaged ships that could be moved so they wouldn’t fall back into Garret’s hands if he retook the Wolf 359 system. Stark had been very clear that Liang was to be extremely cautious with the Shadow naval strength, and both Samuels and the admiral were scared to death of Garret and what he might do.
So Samuels had to assume Holm would get through and land his forces on Arcadia. He’d have to beat them on the ground. His hands felt cold and clammy as he rubbed them together. His ego wouldn’t allow him to realize how scared he was at the prospect of facing Elias Holm. Samuels was a capable general, but one whose ambition and narcissism had too often overridden his judgment. But his rational mind knew Holm was a brilliant general, one whose skills he could never match. One thing he knew for sure…he wanted every possible advantage in the coming fight.
He turned toward his aide. “We need to blast Teller’s people out of that fucking mountain.” He spoke loudly, angrily. “I’m authorizing ten 75 megaton warheads for use on the position.” Stark had told him to avoid going nuclear if possible, but he hadn’t forbidden it…and Samuels couldn’t think of another way to finish off Teller in time. The mountain was in a remote area, and its destruction wouldn’t damage anything productive or populated.
He was tense, his hands balled up into fists at his side. “Attack to commence at once.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide stood rigidly at attention and snapped a textbook salute before turning and walking swiftly from the room.
“What the hell are we doing back out here?” Handler was crawling forward, trying to stay below the tiny fold in the ground. The whole force was breaking out, abandoning the entrenched position and exiting the mines on the far side of the mountain.
“I don’t know, Tommy.” Greene was right behind his friend. The whole company was strung out in single file, crawling through the boulder-strewn badlands. “But I’d rather be here than with Simonson’s group.” Captain Carl Simonson had drawn the rearguard. His people were kilometers away from the rest of Teller’s command, holding the original position and trying to look like the whole force. It was a crucial mission if the army was going to successfully get away without crippling losses, but not one with great survival prospects.
Handler pushed his arm forward, twisting his body hard to move himself ahead. His suit was on reduced power…all part of the plan to stay undetected for as long as possible. That made crawling slow and tiring work.
“You think we’ll make the objective before they spot us?” Greene’s voice was strained, his breath labored from the exertion.
“I doubt it.” Handler sounded slightly better, but he was also tiring quickly. “It’s what? Another four klicks?” He paused, taking a deep breath as he did. “That’s two, three hours at this speed?” They’d been crawling for kilometers, heading toward a rocky ridge with orders to occupy and fortify the position. From there they would cover the withdrawal of the rest of the army. Then it would be their turn to hold until the last of Simonson’s people made it past.
They crawled almost another klick, one slow, aching meter at a time. Handler reach out again to pull himself forward when his arm lightened considerably. It took him a second to realize his suit had gone to full power. He glanced at the tactical display. Troops were pouring out of the tunnels, running at full speed. They were spotted immediately, and sporadic enemy fire began raking across the open fields.
“Simonson’s people. What the fu…” Handler never got to finish his question.
“Attention all forces…Code Orange. Repeat…Code Orange.” It was Teller’s voice on the com. “All personnel are directed to take any available cover immediately.”
“There’s your answer, Tommy.” Bill Green’s voice was tense, edgy…but he was holding it together. He and Handler were still rookies, but they both knew Code Orange meant an imminent nuclear attack.
Handler was looking around, eyes darting from his visor to the tactical display and back again. “Behind that hill,” he shouted on the unitwide com, pointing. “Take cover behind that hill.”
He slapped Greene’s armored back and took off, running as hard as he could without bounding up too high. He glanced at the display…he didn’t have any command authority, but most of the platoon was following him anyway. The hill was pretty steep, and the reverse slope would provide decent protection, even against a nuclear shockwave. The crest ran almost parallel to the old position, giving the maximum possible cover if ground zero was the mountain stronghold.
There was sporadic fire as they ran. The enemy wasn’t pursuing…most of them were breaking off and heading for their own cover. Still, they were picking off a few of the fleeing Marines as they ran. Handler saw one go down. It was a corporal in one of the other squads.
He was rising now, running up the hillside…almost to the crest. He saw another casualty on his display. Then another. He threw himself over the top of the hill to the shelter of the reverse slope.
He’d pushed off too hard on the final lunge, and he lost his footing and tumbled down the steep hillside. He reached out, the gloves of his armor digging into the muddy ground, slowing his fall. He ended up at the base of the hill, lying on his back. He saw Marines hopping over the crest…dozens of them…maybe a hundred. It looked like the whole company, at least, had followed him.
Then his visor went dark. At first he thought he must have damaged his suit, but one glance at the readouts told him what had happened…and an instant later he heard the first massive explosion. Then another. And another.
He lay still, instinctively trying to force his body lower, into the ground itself. He could hear the titanic winds, feel the shockwaves radiating out from the mountain. The ground shook hard, and he felt his body rocked back and forth in the soft mud. The hillside was shielding him from
most of the effects, as missile after missile impacted into the ground, each unleashing thermonuclear fury on the mountain fortress.
His visor reactivated. It had done its job, saved his vision from the blinding flashes of the detonations. The last of the warheads had exploded, and his AI restored his view of the outside. The visor was still heavily shaded, but Handler could see the scene unfolding before him.
He was lying flat, looking up at the top of the hill. Beyond, in the direction of the mountain, there were huge, billowing plumes, smoke and fire, rising sixty kilometers into the reddish sky.
Chapter 16
CAS Kublai Khan
Approaching Planet Shintai
Omicron 11 System
Fleet Admiral An sat quietly on Kublai Khan’s flag bridge, watching his staff efficiently performing their duties. A pall hung over them all, one that dampened the joy at defeating the First Imperium invasion and returning home. The CAC’s Grand Fleet contingent had left almost half its ships and crews behind. Some had been destroyed in battle, but most were trapped when Admiral Garret detonated the massive alien bomb in the warp gate, stranding hundreds of ships…and thousands of naval crew…in the X2 system.
It had been two months, but the pain was still sharp. In many ways, he thought, it would have been easier if the lost ships had just been destroyed in battle. That feeling didn’t make sense…at least there was a chance the stranded fleet had found a way to survive. But he realized it was true nonetheless. For those who returned without friends and comrades, there was no closure, just an open wound, and a constant uncertainty.