by Jay Allan
“Not at all,” Tyler said. The dictator wore a plain uniform, dark gray with almost no adornments, save for a small cluster of stars on the collar. “Indeed, we have long been neighbors. And allies too, have we not? We could do nothing less.” Tyler turned and gestured toward a small table with two chairs. “Please, Major, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Cranston nodded and walked over to the table, pulling back a chair and sitting. “Yes, General,” he said, returning his attention to Tyler’s statements. “Of course. Columbia is a most valued ally. Still, it is one thing to sign documents and quite another to stand in the fire to back them. Not all friends are as fair in difficult moments as they are during times of peace and plenty. You and your people have the thanks—and the gratitude—of the Black Eagles.”
Tyler nodded. “Thank you. That is indeed something of great value.” He paused. “I must confess, Major, I asked to meet with you for reasons beyond the mutual assurances of our alliance. I would never pull you from your duties so you could thank me for keeping my word as an ally. I am not the kind of man who wastes time with such nonsense.”
“I had no doubt there was business you wished to discuss, General…or else I’d have likely thanked you on the com and allowed General Cain to make more substantive gestures when he returns.”
Tyler nodded. “Before we get to business, you might like to know that we recovered Captain Caravalla and forty-two of his fighter crews. Nine of his craft survived the fighting. We recovered them and are currently providing medical services to your personnel. They are welcome to remain with us until we can find a less cumbersome means of transporting them back to the Nest.”
“Thank you, General.” Cranston managed a brief smile. “I’d given up on the fighter crews.” Though seventy-seven percent losses is nothing to celebrate.
Tyler nodded solemnly and looked at his guest for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “I have done my part as an ally of the Black Eagles, Major, and I would have required no other reason beyond friendship to do so. Nevertheless, while I did not take the steps I did to earn gratitude, it is always good when an ally acknowledges an act of good will.”
“Please, General, tell me what we can do for you. I’m afraid our combat effectiveness is not at its usual level, but if it is possible, you will have whatever assistance we can give you.”
“Thank you, Major. But I suggest you reserve your acceptance until you hear what I have to say. You know that Columbia maintains a high degree of security, that we are constantly seeking to uncover and identify threats to our planet?”
Cranston wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but he just nodded and said, “Yes, of course.” Jarrod Tyler's paranoia was well known, though Cranston’s review of the general’s history suggested he had good reason to feel the way he did.
“As I said, Major, there is satisfaction in the act of helping a friend, and I would have intervened for that reason alone. Yet I did have other motivations as well. I have done my part to aid the Eagles. Now I must ask that you do yours…and share information with me.”
“Information? What information?” Cranston felt his stomach tighten. He had a feeling he knew what Tyler wanted.
“I have had a number of disturbing reports of strange occurrences in Occupied Space. Indeed, General Cain came to Columbia last year and we discussed the matter.” He looked right at Cranston. “I believe the Eagles have discovered more about what is happening…and I would ask that you share what you know with us.”
Tyler looked expectantly at Cranston for an instant. Then he leaned forward and added, “I assure you, I am interested in this only for the safety of my world. Columbia has fought many battles, Major, and suffered mightily in them. Few worlds in Occupied Space have seen the horrors we have, invasion after invasion. But when I took my office, I swore she would never again face an enemy unprepared.” He paused again. “So, please, Major…tell me what you know about whatever enemy sent this fleet to attack the Nest. This force that seemed to know exactly when General Cain and the fleet and ground forces would be away?” He took a breath. “And one more question, Major…where are the rest of the Black Eagles?”
Chapter 34
Obelan Foothills
Five Kilometers from Eldaron City
Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
“Get this man out of his armor. Now! If we’re going to save his life, we have to start immediately.”
Sarah Cain stood surrounded by the hulking forms of wounded men and women. Their fighting suits were rent open and covered in blood. The field hospital had been quiet in the early stages of the battle, and she had marveled at the superiority that Darius’ fighters had exhibited, how they used it to minimize their losses. Even the fighting against the tank attack had only produced moderate casualties.
But that had all changed. The soldiers who had emerged from their hidden bunkers weren’t the Eagles’ equals…but they were a hell of a lot closer than any of the other forces Darius’ warriors had faced. And they outnumbered the Eagles by at least five to one.
“Faster, man, faster,” Sarah yelled. Those who knew her personally had always marveled at the transformation that took her on the battlefield. Her normal pleasant and easy-going personality vanished, replaced by a vicious taskmaster who had no more use for excuses than Erik or Darius Cain had ever had on the front line. But the Eagles’ medical personnel had never encountered her before, and as good as they were, she was something entirely different.
“I’m sorry, Ge…Doctor,” the man said, uncertain what to call her. She was a Marine general, a trauma surgeon, and the mother of the Black Eagles’ commander…none of which led to a clear conclusion as to what she was on this battlefield. “The rips in his armor got driven into his legs. We’re trying to get them out…if we use the plasma torch, we’ll…”
“Just get him out of there. Take the legs off if that’ll speed things. He’s going to lose them anyway.” She took a step closer and peered over the unconscious Eagle. “His legs are the least of his problems, Lieutenant. If I can save his life, we can regenerate those.”
Sarah looked up at the med tech and nodded. Then she watched as he pulled out the plasma torch and used it to slice off one of the soldier’s legs. She moved around, leaning over and making sure the heat of the torch had sufficiently cauterized the stump. Then she backed up slightly, while the tech amputated the other leg.
They hadn’t even bothered with anesthesia. The stricken soldier was unconscious, and Sarah knew he would stay that way unless she was able to repair enough of the catastrophic damage he had suffered in battle. And medical supplies were starting to run low. The fleet had sent down a last shipment with Kuragina’s White Regiment, but she knew that was the last she’d see…at least until the fleet defeated whatever force had come to challenge it.
Sarah stepped back for an instant as the crew working on her patient pulled off a section of his shattered armor. She watched as they dumped the enormously heavy chunk of osmium-iridium alloy off to the side of the table and moved on to cut another section.
She stepped forward, her gloved fingers probing the massive wound on the soldier’s shoulder. There were bits and pieces of metal embedded in the stricken flesh, and she picked out a few of the most accessible ones.
“Five units blood substitute,” she snapped off to the assistant standing behind her. “And a trauma-3 cocktail.” She looked up and down the exposed areas of the wounded man, searching for an intact vein. “Here,” she said, pointing to the side of the soldier’s neck. Get your IV set up here.”
Sarah hated the death, the terrible feeling of knowing some of these brave soldiers would die no matter what she did, how hard she tried to save them. The men and women on her operating tables now weren’t Marines…and she was surprised how little that mattered to her.
She realized she had allowed herself to think of the Black Eagles in the same terms everyone else had, but now, su
rrounded by them, seeing them in battle, how they worked together as brothers and sisters…she had to admit they reminded her of Marines.
Of course. Darius grew up into a different world, a new reality. But he’d emulated his father, at least as well as he could. These people may be mercenaries, but they understand honor and loyalty too. They are here not for pay, but because Darius asked them to come. They are fighting—and hundreds are dying—to help rescue Erik.
She knew she had misjudged Darius and the military force he had created…and she intended to atone for that sin the best way she could. She would stay in this field hospital, day and night until she literally dropped from exhaustion. But she would save as many of these warriors as she possibly could.
She hunched over the patient, her hands moving all over him. Her hair was tied behind her head, but a small tuft had worked its way free of the elastic and was hanging down in her face. Sweat streaked down her cheeks as she worked against the odds, desperately trying to address the most vital wounds. The soldier’s medical AI had done what it could…if it hadn’t, she knew, the man would have never made it to the hospital. But now, as she worked closely, she found even more damage.
She was grateful for the way her work consumed her, mind and body. She was a surgeon now, and that was all she had time for. The mother, worrying about her son trapped in an enemy fortress, the wife, desperately hoping the husband she’d long thought dead was actually still alive…they were submerged now, held back by the sheer, brutal necessity for her to focus on the tasks at hand.
“We’ve almost got the last of the armor off, Doctor,” the Lieutenant said, wiping the sweat from his face as his two assistants tugged at the patient’s other arm.
Sarah stared back, her face blank. “Don’t worry about it,” she said softly. “He’s dead.”
* * * * *
“Colonel Kuragina’s lead battalion has completed its retirement, sir. Her second battalion has now reinforced them.” Camerici’s voice betrayed her exhaustion. She’d been at her post for almost three days straight, but Teller had been hesitant to let her stand down. She was enormously capable at what she did—the best in the Black Eagles, and that was saying something indeed. And right now, lives hung in the balance, the survival of friends and comrades. He needed her where she was, and besides, he suspected he’d have one hell of a fight on his hands if he even suggested she take a break.
I just hope she’s not shy about taking the stims. Camerici struck him as the stubborn type, one who would decide she could do what had to be done, without any help, chemical or otherwise. He found such thinking to be familiar—and admirable. As long as it didn’t go too far. Eventually her body would give out, no matter what her mind insisted. And the stims could push that moment further into the future.
“Very well, Captain. Casualty reports?” He felt his stomach tense.
“Preliminary so far, sir. Looks like seventy-three dead, one hundred forty wounded.”
Teller shook his head. Thirty percent casualties…and we were still forced back.
“Are the enemy following up?”
“Not yet, Colonel. Kuragina has the air thick with drones, and we’re getting good scouting reports. It looks like they’re trying to reform to follow up. They got badly hurt on that attack. Kuragina estimates close to 2,000 enemy down.” Camerici’s voice became stronger, a wave of satisfaction finding its way into her otherwise grim reports.
“Yes, her people made them pay for the gains.” Teller was shaking his armored head. But that was on a perfect killing ground, and we burned through a mountain of ammo to do it. The approach to the next line is hillier, with a lot more natural cover. And I’m starting to worry about supplies…
Teller had seen the battle, at least the start of it. He hadn’t been in the thick of the fighting, but he’d led Kuragina’s second battalion up to a supporting position, a little more than a klick from the heaviest combat. He’d intended to stay and take the battalion into the battle, but then he got word that the Eldari had launched an offensive all along the line in front of the capital. He’d hurried back to HQ only to find that, by the time he arrived, the single Eagle battalion in position had repulsed the attack, inflicting heavy losses on the Eldari.
If only we were facing Eldari regulars everywhere, he thought. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Not even close. He recognized these soldiers who had come pouring out of hidden bunkers all across the field. He’d seen them before…fought them before. On Lysandria. And Darius had fought them on Eris. He had suspected it was the same mysterious enemy who had lured them to Eldaron…and Darius had as well. Now he knew. Whoever was interfering in conflicts across Occupied Space, they had targeted his people. This was intended to be the final battle, the complete destruction of Black Eagles.
He hadn’t been able to get through the jamming to reach Darius. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if his friend was still alive. And he’d had no reports from Admiral Allegre either. Perhaps the fleet was gone as well, blown to plasma by the same enemy his soldiers were facing on the ground.
This was a trap, alright, and even though we knew it going in, they still managed to take us by surprise. But we’re not done yet…and anybody who starts a blood feud with the Black Eagles better make sure they kill us all…
* * * * *
“Where is the prisoner who occupied this cell?” Darius Cain’s voice was like an elemental force, echoing off the ceiling eight meters above. He spun around to face the six Eldari soldiers standing against the wall. “You all know who I am. You’ve all heard stories about me. Now, you are going to answer me, and you are going to tell me the fucking truth…or you will see a side of me you couldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmares.”
Darius had burst through the door, ready to find out once and for all if his father still lived, if he had been a prisoner of the Eldari all these years. But all he’d found beyond the door was a rickety old stair leading down to the cell itself. An empty cell. No prisoner at all.
His people had searched the room from one end to the other, but they’d only confirmed what he’d seen the instant he’d run inside. There was no one there.
They’d found some scraps of fabric, and what looked like a worn and filthy tunic stained with blood…along with an old plate and a dented metal cup. There was residue on the plate, the remains of some sort of food. Someone had occupied the cell recently…at least the evidence pointed that way.
Darius picked up the plate and held it up in front of him as he turned back toward the prisoners. “There was someone in this cell…recently enough that the crust of whatever foul swill you feed your prisoners is still on his plate.” He walked down the line of Eldari captives, pushing the plate forward, holding it a few centimeters from the face of each guard.
“So what will it be?” He deployed the molecular blade from the sleeve of his armor and turned his other hand to throw the plate to the floor. Then he froze. The bottom of the metal circle appeared to be scratched and scuffed. He’d assumed it was from age and use, but now Darius saw it. Letters…clearly letters. Carved all over the bottom of the plate. EC.
He felt a shiver go through him, and he stared at the plate, confirming what he was seeing. It was clear. Someone had craved the letters “EC” in the plate over and over...at least ten times.
Erik Cain…
So where was he? If his father had truly been in this cell, where was he now?
Darius felt the breath ripped from his body. Was he too late? Had his father been taken from his cell and executed? Had the arrival of his forces caused the death of his father?
“Where is he,” he yelled, his voice thick with menace and venom. He reached down with an armored hand and grabbed one of the prisoners, hurling him across the room into the far wall. The man fell to the ground with a sickening thud and remained where he lay.
Darius turned toward the second soldier. The man cringed, shaking like a leaf and begging for mercy in almost unintelligible grunts. But there was
no mercy in Darius Cain, not now. He was becoming more convinced with each passing second, the thought playing over and over in his head. His father was dead. He had been here, but the Eldari had killed him. There was something else there too, something dark and hideous, a malevolence he hadn’t imagined lived inside him. It gave rise to thoughts more terrible than any he’d imagined before. Images of Eldaron, of the Eldari…paying for what they had done. Of cities burning…and thousands dying.
He reached down, grabbing the second soldier and yanking him up, holding the man’s frantically struggling body over his head.
“Darius!”
The voice on the com was familiar, and it reached through the haze of vengeance and terrible violence that had seized him. It was a friend, a new one certainly, but a friend nevertheless.
“Darius,” the voice repeated. “The prisoner from this cell is alive…or at least he was.” An armored figure burst through the door, and stood at the top of the stairs looking down. He held another Eldari in his armored hand. “There was a fight, Darius. The prisoner attacked his guards…and the Tyrant. He was taken to the infirmary…badly hurt but still alive.”
The last words echoed in Darius’ mind. Still alive…
He turned and looked up at the armored man standing just inside the door. “Axe,” he called out, “are you sure?”
“Yes, Darius…as sure as I can be. This man is the head jailor. And I didn’t survive so long on Earth without knowing how to get the truth out of someone.” Axe pulled the hapless Eldari hard, dragging him out in front of him. “And I made it clear to him what will happen if he’s lying.”
Darius stood still for a moment, his mind catching up with developments. He’d felt the enormous grief, mourned his father all over again, this time with the guilt of believing his own actions had caused his death. Now there was hope again. His cynicism, the defensive mechanisms he’d spent his adult life building around himself…they called to him not to believe, not to allow hope to flourish again, only to be dashed to bits with more pain and remorse. But he couldn’t hold it back. Axe was a newcomer to the Eagles, but Darius had trusted him—and valued his judgment—since almost the moment they had met. The Earther had lived through the Fall, and he’d kept his people safe and alive for thirty years. And now, perhaps, he was leading the way to Erik Cain.