by Jay Allan
It was bad enough in Washbalt, but things were completely out of control in New York. The mobs had overrun an army unit sent to drive them away, and the murderous Cogs were right outside the gates of the Manhattan Protected Zone. He’d dispatched air transport to ferry the important families out of the city, but there were still hundreds of thousands of middle class residents – and the less influential Political families too, cowering in their apartments as the city police manned the Wall.
The police knew they’d be among the first the mob ripped to shreds, so they were grimly determined to hold the Wall. They mounted every heavy weapon they had along the top of the 20-meter bastion, and they blasted anything that came within half a kilometer.
The mob had lost thousands in the fighting against the army units, and hundreds more from the police fire from the Wall. But every loss just fueled their anger further, increased the brutal savagery and suicidal courage of the Cogs. The crowd was like an animal now, with its own will, its own white hot rage. It didn’t want to argue, it didn’t want to negotiate. Generations of brutal repression had turned to hatred, freedom so long denied now burst out of them as savage cries for vengeance. Oliver had originally tried to find food supplies to divert to them, but now he doubted it would matter. Things had gone too far, and it was going to take more than a few rations to put the Cogs back in their place.
The war had gotten off to a promising start with the naval victory in the South China Sea, but then things went downhill sharply. The Caliphate forces in northern Africa had launched an assault on the Alliance-owned provinces in the south and broken through in several places. The Alliance forces had withdrawn over 300 kilometers, and they were on their third commander.
Then, a CAC hunter-killer pack had targeted the Philippines troop convoy and its escorts with a nuclear attack, launching over 200 cruise missiles. The attack was clumsily executed, and almost half the transports survived to land at Manila, but that was cold comfort. The ship and troop losses were still severe, and the CAC escalation left him with a very difficult decision about his next step. Admiral Young was requesting an unlimited release to use nuclear warheads, and General Simpson on Luzon was insisting he be allowed to launch a chemical strike on the attacking CAC ground forces.
Oliver had forgotten how many aspirin he’d taken, and he threw back four more, washed down with cold coffee. He had just put his head back down when the buzzer sounded.
“I have Number One here, sir.” The voice of his chief of staff sounded loud on the speaker, though he suspected it was the pain in his head and not the actual volume.
“Send him in.”
The door opened and Ryan Warren, Alliance Intelligence’s new Number One, came walking in, his shoes snapping hard on the polished wood floor. He was hunched over with fatigue and moving slowly as he made his way to the president’s desk.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Warren.” Oliver’s voice was pleasant, respectful.
Warren knew immediately the president was scared…that he didn’t know what to do. That fact might have comforted him more with regard to their power dynamic if he himself had any ideas.
“Please have a seat.”
My God, Warren thought, he looks like hell. He took a breath and wondered if he looked as bad. One glance at Oliver’s expression told him he did. “Thank you, sir.” Warren flopped down into the chair with considerably less grace than he’d normally have shown in the office of the president. “Where shall we start, sir?”
“With the Cogs, Ryan.” The war was far away, at least for the moment. But there were two million Cogs rioting just outside the Washbalt Core…and it was the same at the other cities. “We have to do something to deal with these mobs.”
Warren leaned back into the chair. The soft leather was so comfortable, he had to resist the urge to yawn. Sleep was a dim memory, something he remembered doing ages ago…before popping stims had become his daily routine. “Well, Mr. President, I believe the time for half-measures has passed.” He paused. “I know the combat forces are in need of reinforcement on multiple fronts, but I propose we divert a large contingent of army gunships to deal with the Cog problem.”
“Genocide?” There was concern in Oliver’s voice, but Warren knew better than to ascribe it to any moral concerns. “I am not overly fond of the Cogs, Ryan, but we do need them back in their factories if we are going to pull the economy out of this depression and maintain the war effort.”
“Do we, sir?”
Oliver stared across his desk. “We don’t have times for games, Ryan. Nothing is being produced right now. The factories and mines are idle. With the Martian situation and the wars on Earth and in space, no shipments are arriving from the colonies. How can we restart the economy with no factory workers?”
“I’m not suggesting we kill them all, sir.” Warren reached inside his jacket and pulled out a data crystal. “We have known for some time that there is a surplus population of Cogs, above and beyond the numbers needed to perform required menial tasks.” He reached out and placed the crystal on Oliver’s desk. “I believe that we can return to pre-crisis production levels with less than half the current population. My predecessor commissioned the study on that data crystal. It takes into consideration an increase in cost-effective mechanization and a more efficient deployment of Cog labor.” He paused as Oliver reached out and picked up the small crystal. “The conclusion was that a minimally acceptable Cog population would be less than 45% of current figures.” He was calm and businesslike, as if he were discussing a factory’s need for raw materials.
“So you are saying we can kill half the Cogs and still revive the economy back to its pre-collapse levels?”
“Yes, sir.” Warren’s voice was eerily unemotional for someone proposing the mass murder of 60,000,000 human beings. Gavin Stark had chosen his people carefully, and moral ambivalence was one of the primary characteristics he looked for. “The mobs will have no defense against air attack…they will be forced to disperse or face annihilation.” A small smile crept onto his lips. “Culling out the population will also reduce the food supplies required to sustain the survivors. And losing so many of their number will be a lesson those who remain won’t soon forget.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair. “Very well, Ryan. You choose the units to be deployed, and I will sign the orders.” He looked up and stared at Warren. “But make sure they don’t get carried away. We need half of these animals back at their jobs…and we need it soon.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes…I will make sure the proper…ah…restraint is used.” He hesitated, but when Oliver remained silent he took the initiative. “May I assume you also wish to discuss the escalation in the South China Sea?”
Oliver sighed. It had been one thing after another, and it showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. “Yes, I would like your opinion on an appropriate response to the CAC nuclear attack.”
“In my opinion, sir, we have little choice.” Warren’s face hardened. “It is dangerous to show weakness to the Cogs…to show it to the CAC would be suicidal. We must leave them no doubt that any escalation by them will trigger a greater response from us.”
“What do you propose?”
“First, I think it is essential to authorize Admiral Young to utilize any weapons he sees fit. The enemy fleet has gone nuclear. We cannot leave the admiral’s hands tied when he must face an enemy who is already using atomic weapons.”
“I am inclined to agree with you.” Oliver didn’t sound as convinced as Warren.
“I also believe we must authorize General Simpson to utilize both chemical and tactical nuclear weapons.” He could see the surprise on Oliver’s face. “Sir, the enemy escalated at a time and place of their choosing, when their attack could cause the maximum damage to our war effort. We must respond in kind. Admiral Young is not facing imminent enemy attack, but General Simpson is. With the loss of almost 50% of his expected reinforcements, he is in a difficult situation trying to hold the Manila perimeter. If the enemy
strikes first again with enhanced weapons, they could shatter his line and seize Manila before we are able react. The conquest of the Philippines would be a fait accompli.”
“So, you are suggesting we escalate first in the Philippines? Launch an enhanced strike of our own before the enemy can?” Oliver understood the rationale…he even agreed with it. But he was afraid too. Things were beginning to move too quickly. He could feel the situation slipping out of his control.
“If we do anything else, we telegraph weakness, sir. We invite an even greater escalation.”
Oliver ran his hand slowly through his greasy, disheveled hair. It felt like an age since he’d had time for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. He turned and looked out the window at the Washbalt skyline. There was a nasty scar on the majestic image, the gaping pit where Alliance Intelligence headquarters had been. He imagined CAC ICBMs streaking down from the sky, their megaton warheads obliterating the Alliance’s magnificent capital with nuclear fire. Was that where the escalation would lead?
He sighed and wrestled with his own frustrations and fears. Finally, he looked right at Warren. “OK, Ryan. We will authorize both Admiral Young and General Simpson to deploy any tactical-ranged enhanced weapons in their arsenals at their own discretion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Ryan?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m implementing plan Stonewall. Prepare your A-team for evacuation to the Bunkers.
“Yes, Mr. President. Immediately, sir.”
Chapter 25
Near the Sentinel
Planet Armstrong
Gamma Pavonis II
“It looks like a significant force, General Cain.” Ali Khaled spoke calmly, but Cain could hear the grave tone in his voice. “Our best estimate of the transport capacity is two Alliance divisions.” Khaled stood outside the portable HQ shelter, his massive, armored form silhouetted against the setting sun. The Caliphate armor was bulkier than the Marine equivalents, and the alloy was slightly different, giving the metal a darker look.
Cain sighed softly. Another 30,000 enemy troops, and they’d reach Armstrong orbit in two days. He felt a wave of anger and frustration. He and Khaled had finally pushed the enemy back on the defensive, and now the bastards had fresh reserves and resupply on the way. “That will stop our offensive dead in its tracks.” Cain turned to face Khaled, his expression troubled. “You came to our aid, Lord Khaled, as a true friend…yet I fear you have now become embroiled in a fight to the death…with no means of escape.”
“Were there such means, I would refuse them utterly. I would not live at the cost of abandoning a friend and ally. Death would be far preferable to such dishonor.” He paused before continuing, his voice becoming softer, more philosophical. “We are but pawns of fate, General. There is little enough of our destiny we can control, but loyalty and courage are two that we can.”
Khaled could feel Cain’s guilt, the Marine’s genuine sorrow that those who had come to his aid and stood by him were now trapped, facing an enemy far stronger than they had imagined. “Who could have thought that I would fight my final battle – if such this is destined to be – alongside Alliance Marines?” Khaled breathed deeply. “Yet, if the hour of my death is nigh, I could ask for no more honorable companions by my side.”
“Nor I, Lord Khaled. It has been a privilege to ally with you and with your warriors, both out on the Rim against the First Imperium and here on Armstrong.” He still felt a pang of guilt. The First Imperium was mankind’s enemy, a force that struck from deep space. It was only fair and just that the Powers faced that grievous threat together. But Gavin Stark and his Shadow Legions were a creation of the Alliance…at least more so than any other Power. Cain wondered how he would feel if he and his Marines faced death fighting the overwhelming forces of a madman from the Caliphate. Would he be as gracious and supportive as Khaled? He wanted to believe he would, but he wasn’t sure.
Cain’s expression hardened. “Still, I am not ready to give up the fight just yet.” He stared coldly into Khaled’s eyes, and the Janissary commander returned his feral gaze. “We have a little more than two days before the enemy fleet arrives…closer to three before they can get new forces landed and into action. I propose we use that time to the best possible effect.”
Khaled stared back, his head moving slightly in a barely perceptible nod of agreement. “By all means, General Cain. We must cripple the forces currently on the ground before their reserves can land. We must attack immediately and with everything we have. And we must press on, day or night…regardless of losses or fatigue.” Khaled stared right at Cain. “By the time the reserves land, we must destroy or break every enemy formation already on Armstrong. Then we can concentrate on the new arrivals.”
Cain was silent for a moment, unmoving, his eyes locked on Khaled’s. “We have no time to waste,” he finally said grimly. “We attack in one hour.”
Gavin Stark sat in the command chair on Spectre’s small, cramped bridge. The seat was tight and uncomfortable, and he had to be careful when he rose not to bang his head on the large girder just above. Spectre had not been built for comfort.
The vessel was a technological marvel, the result of a long Alliance Intelligence R&D project, one Stark had completed in great secrecy. She was a small ship, streamlined to enable landings directly on a planet’s surface. She was fast too, nearly as speedy as Roderick Vance’s Torch transports. But that wasn’t what truly made Spectre an amazing development…or one so useful to Stark.
The small vessel was the ultimate development in stealth technology, a ship nearly undetectable to any known scanning technology. She could even hide from normal vision. Her hull was covered with cameras that transmitted the view to the opposite side, creating an almost perfect illusion of total invisibility.
Stark didn’t pretend to understand the amazing technology behind the ship’s incredible capabilities…and now no one else would either. Once he had his prototype and the complete schematics to guide his technicians in building more of the class, he disposed of the team of scientists who’d created the Spectre project. He’d penetrated enough enemy research programs to know anyone was breakable. Torture, blackmail, threats, bribery…he’d seen up close just how they all worked, even on the toughest subjects. There was a way to break anyone. And once they were broken, they hemorrhaged information. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks. Dead men were reliably silent. Live ones were loose ends. And Stark hated loose ends.
He was a day in front of the rest of the fleet, darting toward the planet. His scanners had picked up a small enemy task force in orbit. Stark had been a little concerned about giving his stealth ship that kind of up close test. But the enemy ships broke orbit and fled toward the Vega warp gate shortly after Stark’s main force entered the system.
The Shadow fleet was carrying 34,000 fresh troops, enough he figured, to wipe out those hellspawn Marines once and for all. Soon they would land, and when they did, their orders were clear. They would attack, and they would keep fighting without a break until every Marine on Armstrong was dead or a prisoner.
But Stark had his own agenda. Since no one he’d sent had managed to get the job done, he was going to see to Erik Cain’s death himself. He was becoming obsessed with Cain, the repeated, failed attempts to kill the Marine general consuming his thoughts. Cain, the Marine who had invaded his fortress headquarters and ripped Augustus Garret from his grasp. Cain, who had somehow repulsed every assault Rafael Samuels and the Shadow legions had launched against his ragtag remnant of the Marine Corps.
The continuing battle on Armstrong, despite the massive superiority of the Shadow forces, only inflamed his rage. Cain was a loose cannon, an adversary with the capacity to surprise Stark, to prevail against seemingly hopeless odds. And that was the one thing Stark couldn’t tolerate. An enemy he couldn’t predict was dangerous…a risk that had to be eliminated.
“We are about to enter orbit, sir.” Captain Yantz had skippered St
ark’s personal transport for years, and the spymaster took the loyal agent with him into the Shadow corps. “Do you want to land immediately?”
Stark was lost in his thoughts about Cain, but Yantz’ words grabbed his focus. “Yes, Captain,” he said slowly, deliberately. “Bring us down just behind General Samuels’ lines.” He felt the anger and tension growing inside him. He turned and muttered quietly to himself. “It is time to deal with Erik Cain once and for all.”
Explosions rocked the depths of the Sentinel, the shattered remnants of massive trees falling everywhere along the line. The twisted, battered trunks stretched across the field in hundred meter sections, blackened and twisted, lying where they had fallen and slowing the advance.
The Janissaries had been attacking nonstop since dawn, landing hammer blow after hammer blow on the wavering enemy lines. The Shadow forces fought back ferociously, but they were exhausted and low on supplies. They were being driven back…slowly, steadily.
Commander Farooq pushed the attacking Janissaries relentlessly, driving them against one enemy position after another. Cain and Khaled had put him in command of the 11,000 Janissaries and 2,000 Marines of the left flank with orders to attack…and attack, and attack. There was no time to rest, nor to regroup. The Marines and Janissaries had less than two days to destroy the enemy forces, and the morale of the Shadow legions was almost impossible to break.
“Agha Sedik, commence your advance at once.” Farooq’s voice was deliberative, cold.
“Yes, Pasha…at once.” Sedik was Farooq’s most reliable Agha, roughly comparable to a Marine brigadier. Sedik was leading three fresh ortas in a wide flanking maneuver. Once he was behind the enemy position, Farooq would launch the entire line in an all-out attack, driving the Shadow forces back onto them. It was a risky maneuver, especially for Sedik’s forces, but Farooq didn’t have time to spare. He knew they were fighting a battle of annihilation, and anything less than the total destruction of the enemy in the next 40 hours would be a failure.