by Jay Allan
“They are running!” Lieutenant Simone Bourne shouted into her comlink. Her platoon was on point, and they’d been exchanging fire with the rebel line for twenty minutes. Her people had been pinned down by enemy fire, but now the rebels were pulling back. A Marine platoon would have rushed the enemy position, relying on speed and their armor protection. But none of her people – including herself – had ever been in combat before. It’s one thing to know intellectually that most of the enemy weapons can’t hurt you and quite another to jump up and run into that fire.
She had casualties; three of her people were down. A lot more had been hit, but their armor had deflected the incoming rounds. She had no idea what they had done to the enemy. The damned rebels were in heavy cover, ensconced behind a row of enormous rocks.
They’d been there for fifteen minutes before Captain Ferry had thought to order them to attack with grenades. The grenade launchers were built into the armor; they’d trained extensively with them, and they were designed for just this type of situation. She popped off six herself, the same as everyone in the platoon. The ground behind the rock outcroppings erupted into smoke and flames, with dust and debris flying everywhere. After the second round impacted she could see the enemy pulling back, running through a section of sparse woods to the rear. The grenades were minimally damaging to an armored target, but they could wreak havoc on unprotected troops.
“Second Company, pursue.” It was Captain Ferry on the comlink.
“OK, first platoon, you heard the captain.” Her voice was shrill. She was scared, but her blood was up too. The enemy was on the run now, she thought. The rest will just be mopping up. “Let’s go, First Platoon.” She raced forward, trying to remember the training, how to handle the enhanced power of her armored legs. Several members of the platoon got too excited, taking big bounding steps and landing off balance. Two of them managed to damage their suits enough that they were out of action, but the rest swept forward.
They climbed over the enemy’s rock outcroppings, pausing for an instant to fire at the retreating troops. They continued in pursuit, moving three times the speed of the unarmored Arcadians, quickly closing the distance.
Then the explosions started. The first was just to Bourne’s left. She saw it peripherally, and her AI replayed the whole thing from the side cam in her helmet. One of her troopers stepped forward and the ground erupted around him. The explosion was a big one, strong enough to tear his armored body apart. She was about to order the platoon to halt when she heard another explosion. Then another.
All along the line the federal troopers were triggering the heavy mines, and most of those who stepped on one of the big explosives died. There weren’t that many mines, but the inexperienced Directorate troops became disordered and began to panic. Bourne tried to keep her troops in line, but she’d lost three to the mines, and the rest started to fall back.
“Stand fast!” She screamed into the comlink, her voice raw and uneven. But her troops continued retiring to the line of rocks, taking position there. At least they’re not running, she thought. Her AI displayed the battlefield schematic, and she could see that at least half of the platoons in the front line were in wholesale flight.
This was not what she’d expected battle to be like.
“They’re breaking through, Kyl…General Warren.” Major Calvin had taken command of the two leading battalions when both of their commanders went down. His forlorn hope had done its job, but he had barely one in three of his original 311 snipers still with him.
There’s no way to hold them, Warren thought grimly. They’ve got too much of a material advantage. His people had blooded the Directorate troops; that was true. Kyle doubted any of them would ever forget their first encounter with a “rebel” army. The best he could figure, the two leading federal battalions had lost half their numbers. But the Feds had just thrown in two fresh battalions, and Warren had used up all his tricks. The mines were gone, the snipers almost wiped out. All he had left was a battleline of troops armed with popguns that had almost no chance of taking down fully-armored infantry.
“Alright, Major Calvin.” Warren was rock solid. He knew this was coming; he never thought they could actually stop the Feds. They’d done more damage to the enemy than he’d dared to hope, and now it was time to get out of here. “I want you to take charge. I want you to conduct a fighting withdrawal. I’ve got to coordinate with General Thompson, but the plan is to retire through the Cordia swamps. The armored Feds will have a bitch of a time following us there. We’ll regroup on the other side.”
“Yes, sir.” Calvin sounded tired, but otherwise just as solid as Warren. “I don’t think they’re all that fired up to chase us, sir.”
Warren allowed himself a brief grin. “No, probably not. Your troops did a tremend…”
“General Warren, sir!” A voice burst in on Warren’s comlink. It was high-pitched and shrill…almost panicked. “General Warren!”
“Warren here.” It sounded like Jasper Logan. Why was Will’s aide comming him? “Logan? Calm down and report.”
“Sir, we need you here. Please come here right away.” Logan sounded almost irrational. “It’s General Thompson, sir. Please come now.”
“Logan?” There was no response. “Logan…report!” Still nothing.
Kyle turned to face Calvin. “Ed, take command. Get our people out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Calvin was struggling to maintain his cool demeanor. His mind was racing, but it would do no good to fire questions at Warren when he knew the general didn’t have any answers. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Thanks, Ed.” Warren’s face was grim as he jogged down the path that led to the valley.
It was only later that Warren was able to piece together what happened. Half a dozen troopers had seen it, though each of them remembered it slightly differently. The enemy had broken through twice in the center, and both times Will had led his two companies in a counterattack, driving the exhausted and disordered federals back.
He’d just ordered up a third company to replace losses when a new enemy attack pierced the line barely two hundred meters from his position. His forces were depleted now, and the breakthrough was substantial. It was a much tougher fight, and in the end it came down to a close range struggle with pistols and even knives. Will was in the center of the action, and he killed at least ten enemy troopers. His example rallied his exhausted soldiers and they stood fast, beating back the superior federal forces.
The fight was just about over when it happened. The shooting had stopped, and Will was directing his troops to start gathering the wounded. That’s when the accounts began to differ. Some witnesses say Will was leaning over to give a wounded federal soldier a drink. Others saw him drop something and bend over to pick it up.
Whatever the prelude, they all agreed on what happened next. A wounded federal grabbed his assault rifle and leveled it at Will. No one seemed to know if Will didn’t see or if the wily veteran’s combat instincts finally failed him and he froze. The rifle’s muzzle flashed one time, and the round hit Will in the chest from less than two meters away.
His body was blown back by the force of the shot, and he fell on a small patch of torn up grass and mud. The Fed was riddled with fire from half a dozen directions, but it was too late…the damage was done.
Will was sprawled out on the grass, open eyes staring up at Arcadia’s hazy red sun. There was a huge gash on his chest, his uniform soaked with blood. He was surrounded by his soldiers, hardened veterans now unable to hold back the tears from watery eyes.
They tried to talk to him, but Will was far away. Crawling through the garbage strewn streets of the South Philly Flats, back in the wardroom on the Guadalcanal playing cards, walking along the banks of the Concord River with Kara. Kara…he could see her face…blurry, distant. He tried to call out to her, but his throat was full of blood and there were no words.
The troops closest to him were on their knees, desperately trying to bind th
e hideous wound, but it was hopeless. His lips moved, and blood spurted from his mouth. Then he took one last breath, and he was gone.
William Thompson, the hero of the rebellion and the heart and soul of the army, was dead.
Chapter 26
Phobos Transfer Station
Orbiting Sol IV (Mars)
Martian Confederation
Cain was exhausted. They’d flown him here on a Torch, a Martian transport that was the fastest ship in space. It accelerated full halfway, decelerated the rest and reached Mars orbit in less than 36 hours. No freefall, no low g maneuvers…just full out blasting the entire way. Sitting strapped in an acceleration couch pumped full of pressure-equalization drugs wasn’t fun under any circumstances – with a barely-treated deep tissue shoulder wound it was hell. He was pale and haggard when he staggered out into the station’s arrival pavilion.
He knew it had to be important. As soon as they made it back to the Martian embassy, he got the word – he had to go to Mars immediately. No explanation, just a cryptic coded communication marked with a V. Vance. Cain wasn’t a trusting sort, not by any measure, but the Martian industrialist and spy had done right by them so far, delivering on every promise he’d made. That was enough to get Cain on a shuttle without delay, the doctor tagging along to tend his wound as they drove to the spaceport.
He still couldn’t quite process the fact that they’d gotten Admiral Garret out. Cain hadn’t thought twice about taking the mission, but deep down he didn’t really think they would make it. He knew they had to try, and that was enough for him. But they had actually managed it, despite odds he knew had been incalculably daunting. They had three dead and three wounded, heavy losses from a force of 11 men and women…but not too bad for a supposed suicide mission.
If Vance’s people managed to get Garret off Earth like they promised, it would change everything. There wasn’t a doubt in Cain’s mind that the entire navy – or at least most of it – would rally to Garret, whatever course of action he chose. He wasn’t sure the admiral had been a major rebel sympathizer, but his experiences in Washbalt had to shape his point of view about the Alliance and the merits of the conflict. Erik was sure that whatever the admiral chose to do, it would be helpful to the struggling colonists.
“General Cain, welcome to Phobos.” Erik turned to face a tall man, about his own age, sandy haired and dressed in the jet black uniform of the Confederation Marines. “It is a great pleasure to meet you.” The man extended his hand. “I am Colonel Linus Wagner. I have been a great follower of your career.”
“Thank you, colonel. You are too kind.” Cain extended his arm, shaking hands with Wagner as he spoke.
“I sincerely wish we had time to get acquainted, but I’m afraid my orders are to escort you without delay.” He motioned toward a corridor opposite the entry hatch from the ship.
Cain just nodded and followed his new acquaintance toward the corridor. Wagner led him to the first door off the main concourse and placed his hand on a small scanner on the wall. The door slid open. “As I said, general, it was a pleasure to meet you, even so briefly. Your party is waiting.” He gestured toward the open portal.
“Thank you again, colonel. Perhaps another time we can sit and talk shop, so to speak.” Erik nodded and walked through, the door closing immediately behind him.
“I have to apologize for dragging you up here so quickly after that amazing rescue mission you pulled off.”
Cain wasn’t at all surprised to see Roderick Vance sitting on one end of a large leather couch. Behind him was a large clear panel with a view of the rocky surface and, beyond, a glimpse of Mars itself, a hazy orange crescent visible just to the left of Vance’s head.
“In our brief acquaintance, you do not seem to be one to overreact. I was intrigued – which is a nice way to say unnerved – by the urgency of your unexpected message.” Cain walked over, taking a seat at the other end of the couch when Vance motioned toward it. “I therefore assume that some fresh disaster has befallen us. As tempted as I was to try and ignore more bad news, I’ve never been good at putting my head in the sand.”
Vance smiled. Despite his extensive business holdings and the demands of both his public and private professions, the Martian was somewhat of a misanthrope who enjoyed solitude far more than the company of most people. But he genuinely liked Cain. The plainspoken Marine wasn’t fake like most people; that much Vance had seen from the beginning. He got the impression that Cain tolerated people almost as uncomfortably as he himself did.
“Well, General Cain, by most standards what I have to tell you qualifies as bad news, though the fact that we have discovered it offers the opportunity to avert disaster. Indeed, it explains some things that, until recently, had me stumped.” Just tell him, Vance thought to himself. “General Rafael Samuels has been suborned by Alliance Intelligence. He has even been granted a secret Seat on the Directorate.” Vance looked intently at Cain, expecting an argument or at least shock. But Cain surprised him.
“I should have seen that myself.” He looked a little sad, but not at all surprised. “It’s just that I really don’t want to think that kind of thing could happen in the Corps.” His shoulder had been throbbing, but now he forgot about it entirely as he considered Vance’s news. He was thinking about the overall strategic implications, but then he remembered. “General Holm. I’ve got to get to General Holm. He’s on his way to meet with Samuels. He has no idea he’s walking into a trap.”
“Indeed.” Vance’s voice was calm as usual, but there was an undercurrent of concern there. “Thus the urgency in getting you here. We must get to the general and advise him of this news. It is impossible to predict what will happen if he reaches that meeting unwarned. None of the likely prospects are favorable.” His eyes bored into Cain’s. “I have ordered the ship that brought you here placed at your disposal. It is the fastest thing in space. Your backup teams are boarding now.”
Cain had assembled two additional teams for the Garret rescue mission, but Vance had only been able to get Cain and the one group smuggled to Washbalt. The others had been waiting on Mars, enjoying the not inconsiderable hospitality of Roderick Vance. Now they would have their chance at some action.
Erik rose painfully from the couch. “Well, Mr. Vance, I should be on my way. There is no time to waste if I am going to intercept the general before he gets to the meeting on Terra Nova.”
Vance rose also. “Your vessel is still being fueled for the voyage. It will be at least another 2-3 hours before you will be able to depart. Long enough for me to get you something to eat…and have my own doctor look at that shoulder. Perhaps he can do something to ease your discomfort at higher g forces.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vance. I will accept on both counts.” Erik considered himself a pretty hardass Marine, but his shoulder hurt like hell, especially under acceleration, and he’d take any help with that he could get. And he was starving. The voyage to Mars had been so uncomfortable he hadn’t eaten a thing.
“Excellent.” Vance moved toward the door, motioning for Erik to follow. “If you’ll come with me we’ll tend to both matters.” He turned back to face Cain. “Then you can go rescue General Holm.”
Terra Nova was the first world colonized by man outside his own solar system. At the close of the Unification Wars, most of the Superpowers had outposts there, so the planet – along with the entire Centauri system – was demilitarized by the Treaty of Paris. Terra Nova itself was divided into zones, one for each of the Superpowers.
At the time it was expected Terra Nova would become a paradise, an unspoiled world with an amazing climate and tremendous untapped resources. The reality had turned out somewhat differently. The early colonists quickly discovered a number of unexpected problems, including variable but significant radiation levels and a particularly troublesome set of local pathogens. The rapid discoveries of new and more accommodating worlds put a brake on the development of Terra Nova, and the planet had become a moderately seedy collection of s
mall cities and transport depots.
Colonists had been attracted by opportunities that never developed and, once there, they were stuck. Terra Nova’s cities were mostly low-income slums, packed with seething masses of colonists – people whose families had been middle class on Earth but now lived like Cogs in the violent ghettoes of a colony gone wrong.
The Centauri system was a busy nexus, though, and the orbital installations crowding the space around Terra Nova were a different story, humming with constant activity. With six warp gates to the Sol system’s two, Alpha Centauri was man’s gateway to the stars, and enormous traffic passed through every day.
Holm’s shuttle docked with one of the main Alliance orbital facilities, a massive space station containing cargo holds, meeting rooms, restaurants, even two hotels. He was wary – he knew something was going on with Samuels, but he had no idea what. If the Commandant was being pressured somehow, it was possible, even likely, that their meeting would be watched. Holm reminded himself to be careful as he waited for the hatch to open.
He gripped the handrails as he eased out of the zero gravity of the shuttle’s docking portal into the artificial gravity of the station. It was a transition people found difficult to execute the first couple times, but Holm had been traveling in space for forty years, and it was all second nature to him.
He had two aides with him, both fully armed, but that was miniscule protection, and he knew it. He’d have preferred a full strike team – he didn’t like walking into an unknown situation almost defenseless. But there was no way around that; not without tipping off anyone who was watching.
He walked onto the deck of the station, a loose section of metal grating rattling under his feet. He took a few steps forward, hearing the whoosh as the shuttle doors shut behind him. He stood in the empty compartment, alone with his two aides for perhaps thirty seconds, and then the hatch to the main station concourse opened up and armed men and women poured into the landing bay, at least twenty of them, with weapons drawn.