by Jay Allan
“Keep firing, Billy.” Tommy Handler was crouched behind a pile of shattered plasti-crete. He and Greene had been on the line for 3 days without a rest, trying to break through and link up with the relief force. They were both exhausted, but the arrival of reinforcements had energized all of Teller’s Marines, reviving their shattered morale.
“I’m firing. I’m firing.” Greene was about ten meters from his friend, standing behind the remnants of a small storage shed. His assault rifle was on full auto, and he was hosing down an enemy trench. He wasn’t sure if he’d hit anything, but he was keeping their heads down at least, covering 3rd squad’s imminent move around their flank.
“And be careful you don’t hit any friendlies.” Handler was staring out at the small trenchline ahead, scanning for any of the enemy careless enough to show his head. “We’ve got to be close to the relief force.”
There was no way for Holm’s people to securely communicate with Teller’s force, so they’d maintained almost total radio silence. But with the newly-deployed satellite network, the Marines had their eyes back, allowing them to get a locational fix on Holm’s forces. And they were close. Very close. Only this last enemy position lay between them.
Handler whipped around and fired a few bursts, ducking back into cover before a blast of return fire slammed into the jagged chunks of plasti-crete. Teller’s Marines had spent most of their time defending, which had been a considerable force magnifier, allowing them to hold out against a superior enemy for as long as they had. But now they were attacking. The enemy was temporarily on the defensive, trying to stand between the two forces and keep them apart. Handler didn’t think 3rd squad’s attack was going to go very well, but the lieutenant had given the orders and there was nothing the platoon’s junior private could do to stop it.
“They’re going in.” Greene didn’t sound like he thought any more of the plan than Handler. “I hope they don’t get wasted.”
Shit, Handler thought…too soon. That line is still too strong. They’re going to get massacred. “Eyes open, Billy. Anyone over there shows some forehead, be ready to blow it off. Got it?”
“Got it.” Greene’s voice was firm, calm. The training class valedictorian had struggled at first to adapt to real service in the field, but now he was finding himself. It wasn’t coming to him as naturally as it had to Handler, but he was getting there, slowly, steadily. “There they go!”
Handler was watching on his scanner too. Ten small blue dots were moving slowly across his display, heading toward the enemy position. His eyes darted back and forth from the shimmering tactical display to his visor. He had it cranked up to Mag 10, and he was staring at the enemy trenchline, waiting for any movement.
Suddenly, he saw at least half a dozen enemy troopers peer over the trench. They opened fire immediately, targeting not the advancing troops, but the section off to the left where he and Greene were deployed. He ducked back behind his makeshift cover as a hundred rounds slammed into the plasti-crete rubble, sending clouds of powdery dust into the air. “Fuck.” He pivoted, moving around, looking for a place along his front the enemy wasn’t hosing down with fire. “Billy, you OK?”
“Yeah, but I’m pinned.” His voice was thick with frustration. “I can’t get a shot.” He was silent for a few seconds. “And the guys are catching hell out there.”
Handler had taken his attention from the tactical display, but his eyes flashed back. Four of the blue circles were gone, three of them replaced by small crosses. KIAs. There was a single flashing triangle…a wounded Marine. While he was watching, a fifth circle winked out, replaced by another triangle. Fuck, he thought…we’re supposed to be covering them. “Billy, we’ve got to get some fire on that trench line.
Handler dropped to the ground, lying flat. He crawled to the edge of his cover, holding his assault rifle around the corner, firing blindly on full auto. Fuck, he thought angrily…this isn’t doing a fucking thing. “Billy…grenades. Get your launcher online. The grenades were a trajectory weapon. His AI could handle targeting well enough to drop them along the enemy trench, and he could do it all without sticking anything out of his cover and getting it blown off. He doubted he’d kill anyone over there…unless he got a lucky shot. But a whole spread might distract them long enough to help the Marines caught out in the open. He checked the display again…only four left standing, and now they were falling back, carrying the wounded with them. They’d never make it unless he and Greene could give the enemy something else to worry about.
“Let’s go, Billy. Launch grenades…all you’ve got. Now!” Handler held his left arm up, angling to match the small targeting display projected to the side of his tactical map. The launcher was attached to the arm of the suit, a flexible tube connecting it to the small, auto-loading magazine on his back. He lined up the shot and depressed the firing stud inside his glove, holding it down, feeling the vibration as one round after another fired. He moved his arm slowly down the enemy line, trying to space his shots about ten meters apart. He knew he could have just ordered the AI to fire, but he still hadn’t gotten used to the personal assistant. It was a blind spot, he knew. Using the AI could save him time…and that could save his life. But now wasn’t the time to worry about it, so he filed it away. He’d think about it later. If there was a later.
“I cannot express my admiration strongly enough for the skill and tenacity you have all shown in these difficult conditions.” Captain Craig Mandrake had quite won over Kara and the rest of the Arcadian officers. He’d been stunned to find a force this size still in the field, and he was enormously impressed with the actions of the Arcadian army. He hadn’t hesitated to make that clear to any who’d listen.
Kara allowed herself a brief smile. “Thank you again, captain. We only did what we had to do.” She’d been relieved when the small contingent landed. Fifty Marines wasn’t a large enough force to meaningfully turn the tide, but she was still glad to see them. Even more so because it pretty much confirmed that the new arrivals were indeed friendly…and it quickly put to rest the disgusting rumors that they’d been fighting the Corps all along.
“I had hoped we would be able to join your force with General’s Holm’s army, but I do not believe that is possible, at least not immediately. Now that you are resupplied, it is likely your force can hold this terrain indefinitely, even against an armored enemy. I doubt they are in a position to reinforce their positions here…at least not while they are engaged with both General Teller and General Holm. However, the terrain will also work strongly against you if you attempt to take the offensive.”
She nodded slowly. She agreed with everything he was saying. Now that her logistics had improved, she wanted to break out of these mountains…hit the enemy and drive them back. But she knew that was foolish. Even if an attack was successful, the casualties would be staggering. In victory, as surely as in defeat, she would destroy the army she had so carefully preserved these past months. No, she thought decisively…I will not do that. She looked back at Mandrake and nodded. “I am in complete agreement, Captain Mandrake.” She took a short breath. “We cannot consider going on the offensive now. All we can do is continue to hold this position and await further developments.”
Her eyes dropped slowly, her stare focusing on the sparse, scrubby grass. Stalemate, she thought, dejectedly…not just here, but everywhere. Free Arcadia was hanging on, resisting the final domination of the enemy. But that was all they could do. Holm and Teller were in the same situation as her force. They had finally linked up, but casualties were high, and the enemy force still had the superiority in numbers. The Marine generals could hold out…and punish a careless enemy if they got the chance. But they didn’t have anywhere near the strength to defeat the invaders and drive them from Arcadia. “Stalemate,” she muttered softly to herself.
Chapter 29
CWS Suleiman
Deep Space
Near the Samarkand System
Admiral Abbas stared across the table, his eyes l
ocked on Ali Khaled’s. “We must be sure, Lord Khaled, before we commit to such a course of action.” The Caliphate admiral – more accurately, formerly of the Caliphate and now the leader of a fugitive fleet – looked exhausted.
“For my part, I am willing to place my trust in our Alliance friends, admiral.” Khaled was just as worn out as Abbas, though perhaps he hid it just a bit better. “They have been true to their word in our operations together, and I believe they will continue to behave in that way.” Khaled wasn’t referring to the Alliance as a political entity, but rather to the specific individuals in command of the fleet and Marine Corps. Still, it felt odd speaking in such terms of men and women he’d thought of as mortal enemies for most of his life.
“Well…” – Abbas moved his hand to the back of his neck, massaging it slowly as he spoke – “…we do not appear, as the saying goes, to have much to lose, do we?” Abbas wondered how the crews would react, but he wasn’t overly concerned. By siding with him, they had all branded themselves as traitors. He doubted most of them had thought it through clearly or in such harsh terms…they simply rallied to their commander. But it was too late for them to go back. Nothing but disgrace and execution waited for them on Earth. If Abbas and Khaled threw their lot in with the Alliance commanders, the crews would follow. Especially after the last few years of successful cooperation.
“The minuscule intelligence we have suggests the Alliance forces are engaged in some sort of conflict.” Khaled sat rigidly in his chair, as he always did. “Our last data indicates it is some sort of internecine strife, though there has also been speculation that they are engaged with remnant First Imperium forces.”
Abbas frowned. “I doubt it is the First Imperium. Admiral Garret would never have disbanded Grand Fleet if there were any known enemy forces this side of the Barrier.” The admiral leaned back, stifling a yawn. It had been two days – or three? – since he’d slept. “On the other hand, it has not been long since their recent rebellions. Some type of internal conflict seems likely. We know very well their interstellar forces have had a difficult relationship with the Earth government for some time.”
“I suggest we set a course for the nearest of their Commnet stations.” Khaled was moving his fingers across the ’pad embedded in the table in front of him. “We should be able to obtain updated information…and possibly determine a destination where we can join Admiral Garret.”
“Avalon,” Abbas said, waving Khaled from his search. “Avalon is the closest Alliance world on Commnet.” He smiled, amused at the infantry officer’s unfamiliarity with the warp gate network. Khaled was used to being ferried around and dropped into whatever inferno needed the very particular skills of his elite footsoldiers. He spent his time readying his men for ground combat, not memorizing warp gate networks. “We can get there in three jumps…a month, maximum. Maybe three weeks if we push hard.”
Khaled looked up from the ’pad. “I think we should push hard.” He frowned. “The more I think about this, the worse I feel. I was surprised when Garret disbanded the fleet so soon.” He looked across the table at Abbas. “I’m starting to think our Alliance friends might be in more trouble than we imagined.”
Abbas stared back silently, thinking about the Janissary general’s words. He hadn’t considered it before, but now he was wondering. He considered the Alliance admiral to be the best naval leader in human space, himself included. Augustus Garret didn’t do things for no reason…and Sandoval was not where he’d expected the fleet to disperse. Why would Garret want to get rid of the national task forces?
Abbas took a breath and exhaled slowly. “I think you may be right, Lord Khaled.” He nodded. “I believe we should go to Avalon immediately. He reached for the com, not even waiting for Khaled’s response.
“I’m sorry, Admiral Abbas, my orders are clear.” The junior officer was showing considerable backbone. Abbas knew Commnet duty hardly attracted the cream of the Alliance service, but this lieutenant was standing his ground when his tiny station was surrounded by two-thirds of the Caliphate navy.
“Lieutenant, it is our intent to assist Admiral Garret, but to do that, we must first be able to reach him.” Abbas was getting impatient, but he was controlling his temper. He couldn’t fault an officer for the courage to follow his orders, especially in a situation like this. But he didn’t have time to waste either.
“I’m sorry, Admiral Abbas.” The young lieutenant’s voice was cracking a little, but overall, he was showing remarkable strength of will. “I am not authorized to grant you access to the Commnet system without express approval from Admiral Garret or Command Central in Washbalt.”
Abbas sighed hard, flipping the switch to cut the line. He turned to face Khaled, who was standing wordlessly behind him. “I’m afraid your people are going to have to board the station, Lord Khaled.”
The Janissary simply nodded, and he tapped the portable com on his wrist. “Commander Salam, your people may embark immediately.” Khaled hadn’t expected such fortitude from a junior Alliance officer stationed in a backwater system, but he’d been prepared anyway. “Remember, commander…stun guns only.” He paused then added, “Even if you take casualties, you are forbidden to respond with deadly force. Remember, we the provocateurs here.” He spoke firmly, almost threateningly to his subordinate. It was a tough order to give to any troops…to refrain from lethal action, even against an adversary who was killing your people. But Khaled and Abbas had agreed. They might have to take the com station by force, but neither of them wanted Alliance blood on their hands when they made contact with Garret.
“Yes, Commander Khaled.” Salam had a loud, deep voice. “Your orders will be obeyed, my lord.”
Khaled felt a moment of pride in his warriors and their discipline. He had no doubt his orders would be followed to the letter, no matter how much resistance the station crew offered. The Alliance Marines were the only troops in space that could match the Janissaries. “Go then, commander. And may fortune be with you.”
“You may begin your transmission whenever you are ready, Lord Khaled.” The deep voice of Commander Salam boomed from the speaker. “The communications team has programmed the system to relay your message to all active Alliance Commnet relays.” The Janissaries had quickly secured the station, suffering a few casualties, but none of them KIA. The station’s crew had been subdued with stun guns. They’d wake up with bad headaches, but otherwise no Alliance personnel had been injured. Salam had them all locked up in one of his shuttles, and a Caliphate med team was tending to them.
“Admiral?” Khaled deferred to Abbas. The admiral was the senior of the two while onboard naval vessels, though such distinctions were less official since the fleet had gone renegade. But Khaled was a creature of tradition, and he was still following Caliphate protocol to the letter.
“Thank you, commander.” Abbas offered a weak smile. He was less formal than Khaled, but he appreciated the respect his companion in treason afforded him. “Very well, Commander Salam…begin transmitting.” He paused for an instant before continuing. “This is a priority transmission for Admiral Augustus Garret from Admiral Abbas and Janissary Commander Khaled. We are transmitting from the Commnet station in the Avalon system…”
Chapter 30
Marine HQ
North of Astria
Planet Armstrong
Gamma Pavonis III
Cain stared out across the scrubby grasslands north of Armstrong’s battered capital. The enemy bombardment had done considerable damage, and whole sections of the city were in ruins. But much of Astria still stood, enough, at least, that Cain called it damaged and not destroyed in his log. The enemy had lost heart in blowing the city apart once it was clear Cain wasn’t going to take the bait. It had been a fool’s game for the invaders. Cain’s stubbornness was legendary, and he’d lived up to that reputation. He had refused to become distracted from the main area of battle, no matter how much of the capital was in flames.
The fighting in the Sentin
el had been some of the worst Cain had ever seen. The invaders were armed and equipped like the Marines, and clearly trained in the same tactics. There was an eerie feeling to the battle, almost as if the men and women struggling amid the shattered trees were battling themselves. In the end it came to hand-to-hand fighting, blade against blade. The fighting blades were one of the most terrifying weapons a Marine could face. Barely a molecule thick along the cutting edge, they sliced through armor nearly as easily as air itself.
For a while, Cain thought the battle was lost. He was in the line with his Marines, fighting bitterly to hold on in the woods. But they were just too outnumbered, and they were pushed back…closer and closer to defeat. Finally, like the answer to a prayer, the Obliterators smashed through from the south and into the rear of the enemy forces, turning the tide just in time.
It had been a victory, if so costly a struggle can truly be designated as such. Cain’s Marines had lost 60% of their strength…but there wasn’t a live enemy north of the Graywater. They’d fought with the same determination the Marines had, and in the end, the few remnants that broke and ran met the rest of the Obliterators stationed along the river, and they were slaughtered.
It was a passing triumph…a battle won, not the war. The enemy forces to the south still vastly outnumbered Cain’s remaining troops. They were regrouping, trying to adjust to the unexpected reverse they had suffered. But eventually they would move north and attack the forces Cain had entrenched along the river. The Marines were in a good position, but they were battered and low on supplies. Cain had no idea if they’d be able to hold…or if the victory in the Sentinel would prove to be a passing moment of no lasting value.