The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II

by Jay Allan

  He squeezed the trigger, and the dual autocannons of his fighter opened up, their hypervelocity projectiles leaving a glowing trail as they ionized the air around them. A single missile could have destroyed the bridge, but Darryk had fired them already, so he had to tear this new target apart bit by bit. He watched as the depleted uranium rounds tore into the surface of the bridge, chunks of shattered plasti-crete flying around, exposing the steel structure below. He angled the throttle after he zipped past the bridge to come around for a second pass. He could see the target was pockmarked with giant holes, but he hadn’t severed it…not yet.

  He looked down at the ammo readout. He had barely enough left for one more run…but he had to save something for the fourth bridge. If he left any connection from Nordberg to Eldaron City, there would be a steady flow of arms and men heading toward the front lines. And he knew his people were working on borrowed time. It would take at least an hour and a half to rearm and get back…and sooner or later, the Eldari would get at least part of their air defense network back online. His people had taken out a number of defensive installations, but he knew there were more, underground and in armored strongpoints. If they came back online, his next bombing run would come at a much higher cost.

  He stared straight ahead, his eyes focusing on the worst-hit section of the bridge. One of the structural supports was severed, and there was only one remaining. He angled the fighter, heading straight for that point. The targeting display was projected in front of him, and he nudged the throttle until the lines matched up. Then he pulled the trigger, spraying the exposed girder with fire, tearing the tortured metal to shreds. The middle section of the bridge seemed to hover in space for a few seconds. Then it collapsed, twisted girders and huge chunks of ‘crete falling into the murky brown water below.

  Yes! Darryk’s eyes moved to the ammo display. About 600 rounds left. Not much…but maybe enough…

  He brought his ship up, moving toward the rally point. He could see the distant white trail of one of his birds, heading toward the same position. A quick glance at the widescreen display showed him his other wingman, coming up on his six.

  “Report,” he snapped into the com. He could see that they’d both taken down their targets. What he really wanted to know was if they had any ammunition left to attack the fourth.

  “Strike Two, here. Target destroyed. I’ve got one short burst left in my guns then I’m out.”

  “Strike Three. Target destroyed. My guns are dry, Major.”

  He nodded. About what he’d expected. He figured they could still take out the fourth bridge, but there was no room for error. “Three, return to base. Two, on me. We’re going in.” There was no point in Strike Two staying around. With its guns dry, it couldn’t do anything even if the Eldari unleashed some previously unknown air force. Better they get back and get rearmed and refit…and clear the way so his bird and Two could get in and out that much faster.

  “Two, do you see those center supports on bridge four?”

  “Yes, Major. Got ‘em.”

  “It’ll take some serious accuracy, but I think that’s the easiest way to take the sucker down with what we’ve got left.” A short pause. “Follow me in, and finish off anything I leave standing.”

  “Got it, Major. On your six.”

  Darryk nudged the throttle forward, diving toward the last bridge. He came in lower, far lower than he had on the first attack. His bird was streaking across the river, barely a thousand meters over the rippling water. But he was going lower still, and as the target grew larger ahead of him, he pushed the throttle hard, dropping to five hundred meters…three hundred…one hundred…

  He could almost feel the river below, the torrent his fighter created as it zipped along barely thirty meters over the river. The bridge was just ahead, but now he dropped again, to twenty meters. The main support pylons were coming up, right in front of him as he came in ten meters below the bridge’s road surface. His hand tightened, and he stared intently at his targeting screen. He took a deep breath and held it.

  No room for any mistakes…

  The AI was aiding his targeting, but the final shot would be his. It was 99% math and 1% gut feel, and the intuition was his part, the last touch that made a good shot a great one. Now, he thought, as he pressed the trigger.

  The first pylon blew apart as the stream of hypervelocity particles took it dead on. Darryk’s finger loosened, saving the last of what he had for the second support. He pressed again, the rest of his rounds blasting out in less than a tenth of a second, ripping into the massive column of reinforced plasti-steel. His shot carved out a huge chunk, but about a third of its circumference remained. He didn’t know how, but the bridge was still standing. And his guns were bone dry.

  He felt his stomach lurch, the feeling of coming so close but not getting the job done. He’d have to come back…and if the Eldari got some of their defenses working, he was going to lose people on that attack. All because he hadn’t hit that pylon hard enough…

  “Yeeeeeahhh!” he heard on the com, and his eyes darted back to the display. His finger hit the rear camera controls, bringing up an image of the collapsing bridge…and Strike Two zipping up right after his bird.

  Strike Two had done it, placed his last few rounds perfectly, and finished the job Eagle Leader had begun. Darryk pumped his fist hard and screamed, “Yes. That’s fine shooting, Strike Two! Damned fine shooting!” He paused, taking one last look as the bridge tumbled into the water below. “Now let’s get back to base!”

  * * * * *

  Darius couldn’t feel the knee deep water as he moved forward, but he could hear it splashing around his armored legs. Cain had been grateful for his armor many times, though usually it had been the combat effectiveness of the fighting suit he appreciated. There was likely fighting ahead, and he suspected those offensive and defensive capabilities would once again be welcome. But right now he was just happy to have a couple centimeters of airtight osmium-iridium alloy between him and the sewer he was walking through.

  Not to mention the cool, fresh recycled air. I can’t even imagine the stench out there…

  It wasn’t easy to move quietly in powered armor, but he slowed down a bit and tried to walk more carefully. The deeper they got into the complex without being discovered, the better. Not just tactically, but because the news that an infiltration force was loose in the Citadel might cause the Tyrant to take decisive action against the prisoner.

  Assuming there is a prisoner.

  Darius Cain found himself flip-flopping back and forth about whether he truly believed his father was on Eldaron, or if it was all just an elaborate hoax. It didn’t really matter…if there was any real chance Erik Cain was alive, Darius knew he had to investigate. But even his legendary discipline was failing him, the anticipation of seeing his father again after so many years playing havoc with his focus.

  And if he’s not here? If it was a hoax…or worse, if he is here, but you get there too late? What then? The truth is, you let yourself buy into this, to hope to see him again. You allowed emotion to rule your judgment. What will it do to you if it was all for nothing? Or if he dies because you came here and forced the enemy’s hand?

  Darius didn’t have any answers, but he could feel the darkness in his mind, and it gave him a pretty good idea how Eldaron would suffer if they killed his father. Despite his reputation, he’d generally been just and rational during his campaigns, reluctant to shed any more blood than was absolutely necessary. But if he found his father murdered by the Tyrant’s soldiers, he knew his heart would cry out for vengeance, that it would rule his mind. Then they would see the monster the legends made of him. If Erik Cain died at the hands of his captors, Darius knew he would leave the planet a lifeless graveyard. He might live to regret such savagery, to mourn the innocents who died alongside the guilty. Indeed, he knew he almost certainly would. But he was just as sure that wouldn’t stop him.

  “General Cain, the forward scouts have found an in
gress point. It appears to lead up into a maintenance area below the Citadel.” Captain Alcabedo’s voice was crisp, focused.

  “Any sign of the enemy?” Darius knew they were lucky to get so far without running into a guard or a patrol.

  No, more than luck. It’s Tom Sparks and his tech, Kevin Darryk and his pilots…all my people. We kicked the anthill, and the Eldari are up there in a panic trying to get their shit together…instead of guarding access points in the bowels of their fortress…

  “No, sir. The forward pickets request permission to move up into the corridor and scout it more thoroughly.”

  Darius heard his officer’s voice from the speakers inside his sealed helmet, but he knew the captain was close by. Ernesto Alcabedo was one of the longest-serving veterans in the Black Eagles, a man who had joined the colors when Darius and Erik Teller commanded three hundred troops and a single spaceship. He’d served for years now in the Special Action Teams…and more recently as Darius Cain’s babysitter.

  That role, informal but nevertheless one he took very seriously, had come about when Darius had gone to Mars to meet with Roderick Vance. Erik Teller had eventually given up trying to convince his friend the trip was too dangerous, but he’d resolutely demanded Darius take a detachment of guards with him everywhere he went...and the Eagles’ number two had filled that roster with the hardest core warriors to ever wear the black uniform. And he’d put Ernesto Alcabedo in charge of the detail.

  The guard detail had been disbanded when Darius returned to the Nest from Mars, but Alcabedo seemed to regard his own assignment as a permanent one, and he’d been hanging as close to the general as he could without outright disobeying orders. Darius had found it amusing at first, then annoying. But he’d stayed silent and allowed the officer to continue in the role. Of all the things in the vast galaxy, Darius Cain knew that true loyalty was one of the rarest, to be valued and appreciated when found…even when it annoyed the hell out of you. He didn’t think he needed a bodyguard…but he did need men and women like Ernesto Alcabedo. And he knew he wouldn’t keep them if he didn’t respect and value them. And since Alcabedo was going to follow him around like a puppy anyway, he figured he might as well make the veteran captain his aide.

  “Yes, Captain. I want a full team to move up and scout the area. Push another team deeper down this sewer line…see if there are any other exit points nearby.”

  “Yes, General.”

  I just wish I knew where anything was in here…

  The Eldari data networks had proven to be carelessly safeguarded, and the Eagles had been able to secure strong intel before launching their attack. About everything but the Citadel. There was no information about the Tyrant’s great fortress, none at all. Darius understood the paranoia of Eldaron’s leader. Indeed, he knew it was a necessary survival trait for a dictator. But it also meant he was completely blind in these tunnels, with no idea where the detention cells were.

  “Captain, remember, we need information. Advise the forward teams to deploy their stun guns. I want a prisoner.”

  * * * * *

  “The Eldari forces are being slaughtered, General. We must engage soon, or they will be destroyed. Shall I order the lead formations to assemble?”

  “No.” The reply was cold, final. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Albrecht Trax’s voice.

  “But sir…” the aide said tentatively, hesitant to argue too strongly in the face of the general’s steadfastness.

  “Major Diomeni, I needn’t remind you that the Eldari are expendable in this operation. Indeed, all of Eldaron is. We have only one purpose, one overriding mission to accomplish. Destroy the Black Eagles. It is of little consequence if the Eldari forces, the Tyrant…or indeed this entire planet, survive.”

  Trax stared back at the display. The screen was divided into eight rectangles, each feeding in a report of a different section of the battlefield. The areas being reported on covered a range of several hundred kilometers, but the data on each was similar. Eldari forces fighting well initially, despite their lack of communications and equipment, but falling back in disarray as each formation was assaulted by the Eagle forces.

  “Indeed, I have yet to find an instance of the Eldari standing before a concentrated Eagle offensive, regardless of numerical superiority. We can only ascertain that they are incapable of doing so.”

  “That is true, General, but the Eldari are without communications, and much of their ordnance was rendered inoperative by the EMT strikes.”

  “Which were effective largely because of the inferiority of the Eldari equipment.” Trax’s voice was heavy with disgust. “No, we cannot consider the native forces to be of any use save baiting the trap…and that is why we must wait before we strike, why we must remain in our shielded bunkers without giving the enemy any opportunity to detect our presence.”

  The major cleared his throat, likely as much to gain a few seconds to work up his courage than because he really needed to. “May I remind you, sir,” he said tentatively, “that we have suffered some equipment failures as well, despite our superior ordnance and our position in shielded bunkers?”

  “That is true, Major. Clearly, the Eagles’ weapons were enhanced somehow to produce an EMP spike far above norms for nuclear detonations. But the attack was a minor inconvenience to us…yet it virtually obliterated the Eldari forces’ capacity to resist. They are getting what they deserve.”

  The general paused for a few seconds, his mind deep in thought, face twisted into a frown. “Still, the Eldari must pose enough of a threat to compel the Eagles to bring down all their forces. Our best reports suggest that only two of four operational regiments have landed as of yet. If the Eldari fall too rapidly, the Black Eagles will keep their reserves on their fleet…and they will have maximum mobility to counter our strike. Or, perhaps more unfortunately, half of the company will be able to escape once they become aware of the size of our forces…and the lethality of the trap we have set for them. Trax’s confident voice faltered a bit when he mentioned Eagle forces escaping. His orders had been made perfectly clear to him—destroy the Black Eagles, all of them. And he had seen how the Triumvirate handled failure.

  “Perhaps we should provide at least some limited support, sir. At least enough to stabilize their forces. We must coax the Eagles to land the remainder of their combat units, after all.” Diomeni’s voice was halting, tentative. It was clear he didn’t like watching allies hung out to dry…but even more apparent that he was hesitant to challenge General Trax too strongly.

  Trax looked up from the display and stared at Diomeni.

  “We cannot release any of our primary combat units, Major. Not yet. The Eagles have faced Omega forces before, and the chance that they will recognize the true threat we pose is too great. But we will dispatch what we can to stiffen the Eldari lines…weapons, communications equipment, ordnance that will not seem out of place in their hands.” He paused. “And armored vehicles. There were no tanks deployed when the Omega forces engaged the Eagles on Lysandria, and therefore no reason they would connect such forces to us. It is likely they will attribute them to some Eldari secret corps, an armored reserve the Tyrant had kept hidden. Perhaps they will even determine that such a force is the trap they are no doubt expecting. Indeed, if that is the case then we shall gain doubly from their early deployment.

  Trax stood silently for a moment, considering his own words. Then he said, “Yes, release the armored force. They are to launch an attack against the Eagles’ flank. Then the enemy will be compelled to bring down reserves to face the new threat.”

  Tanks had virtually disappeared from ground warfare since the Fall. Few of the worlds of Occupied Space had the industry to build large numbers of the heavy combat vehicles…and transporting them across space was incalculably expensive. Even the Triumvirate was severely limited in what it could produce and move. But destroying the Black Eagles was the highest priority operation currently underway, and no expense had been spared setting a trap that would
destroy Darius Cain and his elite warriors.

  “General, the operational directives for the armored vehicles stipulate that they are to be deployed with infantry support.”

  “Yes, Major, but if we send out any of our infantry, the Eagles will know who we are. They may even abort the invasion and escape.” He left unspoken the fact that every officer in the force ranked colonel or higher—and possibly major too—would likely lose their heads if that happened. “No, the armor will attack alone.”

  Trax paused, slipping deep into his thoughts for a moment. “And activate full Endgame protocols for the armored units, Major.” His voice was deep, almost grim. “We can’t risk having the Eagles take any Omega soldiers prisoner…”

  Chapter 27

  “The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

  Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

  Earthdate: 2318 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “What the hell is going on, Rolf?” John Cranston burst into the control room like a force of nature. He was dressed in his duty uniform, but the state of his hair—and the fact that the buttons of his jacket were out of order—told Rolf Anders he had awakened the Nest’s provisional commander when he’d sounded the alarm.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s probably some kind of misunderstanding. But we’ve got ships coming through the Gravis warp gate.”

  Cranston moved up behind Anders, staring down at the captain’s display. “Any contact?”

  “Negative, sir. We have issued the standard challenges.” The Eagles were extremely defensive of their base, and there was a series of communications issued to unauthorized vessels approaching the Nest. The first was polite, a businesslike announcement that the ship was encroaching on secured space and instructing it to change course. By the third broadcast, very specific threats were being made, strong enough to chill the blood of most unwelcome interlopers. But the approaching ships had ignored the warnings and continued toward the Nest.