by Jay Allan
Which was a damned good thing, because it was going to take everything all of them had to survive this fight.
* * * * *
“Get the wounded back,” Darius yelled into the com. “Set up an aid station closer to the detention area. And clear these corridors!”
Cain and his soldiers had been halfway to the infirmary when the attack began. Enemy troops poured down every corridor, and almost immediately, the Eagles were bogged down and fighting off attacks from every direction.
“Yes, General.” Captain Clive was the only surgeon he’d brought with him. Along with two medical techs and half a dozen privates hastily designated as orderlies, he was all that was available to deal with the mounting casualties. The Teams were the best of the best, and they fought with enormous skill and distinction…but they were outnumbered and unfamiliar with the layout of their battlefield. And they knew they had to press on, regardless of position or losses. They had to reach the infirmary. If Erik Cain was truly there, every second was the one the enemy could choose to kill him.
Alcabedo was right next to Darius. As usual…how does he do that?
The bodyguard was firing like a machine, putting a three shot burst into every enemy soldier within view. He’d apparently decided trying to get Darius to stay back was a futile effort, so he took it upon himself to try to blast every enemy that came close to the general.
And Darius had to admit, he’d come quite close to meeting that impossible goal.
Darius lunged forward, firing his own rifle as he did. The enemy soldiers were good…clearly these weren’t standard Eldari levies. But they were no match for the veteran—and fully-powered—Black Eagles. They lost five, six, seven men for every casualty they inflicted, but Darius knew that was a winning trade for them. He had to keep pushing forward, not only to see if his father was there, but to prevent his forces from getting bogged down.
“I want a Team at each intersection or passageway,” he snapped. “We’ve got to keep the line to the detention area open.” He hadn’t intended to allow his forces to get this stretched out, but he’d had no choice. His troops had suffered more than forty casualties. And the wounded couldn’t keep up with the advance.
He moved swiftly down the corridor, and he whipped around the corner, ahead of Alcabedo and the three other Eagles who’d tried to get in front of him. There were three enemy troops there, and they opened fire almost immediately.
Darius dropped low and fire back on full auto. The enemy shots went over his head, the rounds impacting on the rough stone of the walls, sending shards of rock flying in all directions. His own fire was far more accurate, and in an instant the three enemies were down, their bodies torn almost to shreds by his hyper-velocity rounds. There was a brief clicking sound as his autoloader replaced the spent cartridge.
“That should be the infirmary right up ahead,” he said, his com set to the unitwide frequency. “Let’s go!” He ran down the hallway, his rifle in front of him as he did.
He stopped in front of the closed hatch. “Plasma torches,” he yelled.
Two Eagles pushed their way forward, each of them holding a large plasma cutter. They thrust the tools forward, one on each side of the hatch, and they sliced downward, cutting through the hypersteel like a razor slicing a sheet of paper. In a few seconds it was done, and the two of them kicked the door hard, sending it flying into the room beyond.
Darius pushed past the two of them, leaping first into the room. It was reckless, a stunt for which he would have disciplined any of his people. But Darius Cain the military commander had momentarily lost his control over the persona he now shared with Darius Cain, seventeen year old boy, first hearing his father had been killed. His heart pounded in his ears, and he was shaking inside his armor. That had been the worst day of his life, and now he was minutes from finding out if it was true…or if it had been a fraud all along.
In a few seconds, you’ll know…
He looked around quickly, his eyes confirming the room was indeed part of an infirmary. There were medical machines of various types and a row of cots along the side wall. He turned and looked at the beds, frantically searching, feeling the hope he’d so firmly kept under control escaping its bonds, driving him forth with unrestrainable excitement.
He retained enough of Darius the soldier to watch for enemies, but that discipline had been off, below its usual standard. Just enough. He didn’t even see the man, he just felt the impact, like a sledgehammer in his shoulder. He staggered backward, but he steadied himself and didn’t fall. He had a vague sensation of his soldiers firing, a passing image of the man who had shot him blown halfway across the room, his body shredded by at least a hundred rounds.
Darius felt hands on his armor, those of his Eagles, but he swung his arm back, pushing them away. The wound was bad, but his AI had already packed it with sterile foam and pumped him full of painkillers and stims. He’d deal with it later. Now he had something more important to do.
He pushed through the infirmary, shoving stacks of equipment out of his way with the enhanced strength of his armor. He spun around the corner, this time with his rifle drawn, held in front of him with one arm.
He was staring down a long wing of the room, his eyes moving from cot to cot. He felt the chill of the cold sweat on his neck, and he wondered if he’d even recognize his father after so many years. What torment had he lived through, what profound, aching loneliness? Would he be older? Yes, of course. Would he be changed, hurt? Would he even recognize his own son…a thirty-two year old man he’d last seen as a boy of fifteen?
He pushed himself forward, snapping an order to the AI to increase his visor’s magnification. No, he thought, looking at a man in one of the cots. No…no….no…, he thought, quickly discounting each of them in turn.
He froze. There was a cot at the far end of the room. A man was lying on it, covered to his chest with a white sheet. His head was turned, and a mass of stringy, gray hair hung over the edge of the bed. Then he saw it…the man’s arm was along the edge of the bed…bound in a restraint of some kind.
A prisoner…
Darius pushed forward…just as he saw a man coming from the other side of the room. He was tall, wearing the uniform of an Eldari guardsman. He was walking right toward the man in the cot.
Darius’ eyes snapped into laser focus. There was a pistol in the man’s hand…
* * * * *
Eagle One shook hard, and a spray of sparks exploded across the bridge. One of the big power conduits had broken loose, and it fell in the middle of the bridge. The two security guards rushed over to secure the flopping cable, but one of them slipped and touched the live end. He thudded to the deck immediately, dead, his body stinking of burnt flesh.
“Get a damage control team up here now, Lieutenant.” Allegre sat in his chair, trying to remain as calm as he could. He knew his people would look to him in this desperate hour, and he intended to give them all he had left to offer. He couldn’t save them, he knew that. He had no tricks, no tactical wizardry to extricate them from this hopeless battle. But he could show them how to face death…and how to lash out in defiance with the very last of their strength.
“Sir, more ships coming through the Upsilon-2 gate. At least ten so far.”
“Very well Lieutenant.” He sighed. The enemy already had enough to finish off his fleet. They didn’t really need any reinforce…”
“Admiral!” The tactical officer spun around, staring over toward Allegre’s command chair. “We’ve got incoming communications from the arriving vessels.”
Allegre felt an odd feeling…he wouldn’t have called it hope, exactly, but it was something similar.
“Put it on the main speaker, Lieutenant.” He wouldn’t normally broadcast something unknown to the entire crew, but he figured they deserved to know what was happening. Whatever that was…
“Attention Black Eagles. Attention Black Eagles. This is Admiral Augustus Garret commanding the Marine Corps fleet. We have come to ai
d you in your struggle.”
Allegre sat still, utterly stunned by what he had just heard. Is this a trick? Are they trying to fool me, gain an advantage? But why? They know they have us.
“I want scanning data on those incoming ships, Lieutenant. Now!”
He glanced around the bridge. Even his disciplined crew was distracted, looking around with confused expressions on their faces.
“Seventeen ships have transited, sir. They match the basic size distributions the database has for the Marine fleet from Armstrong, sir.”
“It’s not possible,” Allegre snapped back. “How could the Marine fleet be here? How would they even know we were here?”
“They’re requesting visual communication, sir.”
Allegre shook his head. It just can’t be. But he simply said, “Activate visual com.”
He stood up, and he found he was subconsciously brushing himself off, straightening his uniform. He didn’t really believe Augustus Garret was on the other end of the com line, but just in case…
The main screen lit up…and there was Augustus Garret. He was older than the last time Allegre had seen him—which one of us isn’t—but he knew without the slightest doubt. It was humanity’s great admiral, the man who had, more than anyone, saved mankind from the First Imperium…and from the orgy of self-destruction it tried to inflict on itself in the Shadow Wars.
“Hello, Gaston,” Garret said simply. “It is good to see you. It has been, what? Seventeen years?”
Garret stood still, staring into the screen. He wasn’t wearing a naval uniform, just a simple set of fatigues over a survival suit. He looked the same as always. His still-thick hair was completely gray now, and his face showed a bit more age, but the stare was the same…warm and cold at the same time. Reassuring…and deadly.
“Admiral Garret,” Allegre said, his throat suddenly so dry he could barely force out the words. “How?”
Garret managed a thin smile. “Well, I tried to stay on the sidelines for this one…but what can I say? It’s just not in my blood.”
Garret turned to the side, gesturing to someone off-camera. “Or, if you mean how did I know you would need my help here…”
Garret stepped aside and another man walked into view. Allegre was confused for an instant, but then he saw the face, and he gasped. “I don’t under…”
“Hello, Admiral Allegre. I am Elias Cain. I’m sorry if I gave you a bit of a start. I know my brother and I have quite a resemblance.” Elias grinned. He and Darius were identical, and beyond hairstyles and clothing, it was almost impossible to tell them apart. At least physically.
Allegre shook his head, trying to clear away the shock he felt. “Mr…” No, it’s captain… “Captain Cain, I still don’t understand.”
“Gaston,” Garret interjected. “I realize this is quite a surprise for you, and you no doubt have many questions. But I suggest we deal with this enemy fleet before the Q&A session. What do you think?”
Allegre felt strength flowing into his arms and legs, a hot fury driving away the cold numbness of defeat. The enemy fleet was still strong, and the fight would be a hard one. But now he had reinforcements. And he had Augustus Garret.
“I agree completely,” Allegre answered, the determination thick in his tone.
Oh no, the battle wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 36
The Citadel
Planet Eldaron
Denebola System
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
Darius felt as if time had slowed. His eyes were locked on the soldier with the pistol. Was he just another enemy soldier, responding to his attack? For an instant he thought so. But then he felt a coldness, a realization. The man was here to kill the gray-haired patient. He had no evidence, no reason for certainty, but he knew…somehow he just knew, and he’d never been surer of anything in his life.
Every muscle in his body tensed, an almost electric feeling energizing him, driving his reactions. He had no time for thought, for considering facts, but he didn’t have to. He realized instantly…if the Eldari had sent someone to kill that patient, now, in the middle of all that was happening it could mean only one thing…
Father.
His mind wanted to explode, wild thoughts streaming in every direction. But, somehow, the discipline that had always guided him held on, maintained his focus. He had to act, now. Or he would watch his father die ten meters in front of him.
He saw the man moving toward the bed, his arm rising as he did, bringing the pistol to bear. Darius was still moving forward. It wasn’t the best situation for an aimed shot, but he didn’t have time to stop. “Single shot,” he snapped to the AI as he raised his rifle.
He took a breath and held it as his targeting sight moved over the enemy soldier.
He felt a rush move through him. He was going to make it…he was going to get his shot off first…
Then he heard the sound, an explosion, and even as his finger began to press down on the trigger, it hit him. A small shard of metal, slamming into his ankle. It was a minor wound, indeed, it had barely pierced his armor. But it pushed him forward, and his shot went wide. He was stumbling, and his visor shifted. He saw the floor coming up at him, and instincts kicked in, his body rolling to the side to cushion the impact.
He felt a coldness inside him, and he retched, tasting acidy bile in his mouth. No, he thought, a wave of despair coming over him from deep in his mind. He had missed. And that meant…
He whipped around, pushing himself up to his feet. There were waves of pain from the wounded ankle, but he ignored them, indeed, he was hardly aware of them. He was determined to get up, to kill the soldier with the gun. He knew he was too late, but he had to try. Still, he heard the same thing in his mind. I’m sorry, father…I’m so sorry…
Then his eyes focused on the cot, the man still lying there. The wall behind was covered in blood, fresh streams of droplets working their way down from a large circular stain. The soldier was gone…no, not gone. Darius saw his feet on the ground, visible behind the cot.
But I missed, I know I missed. And then he snapped his head around and saw the armored figure standing right behind him. Ernesto Alcabedo, his rifle still aiming where he had fired the deadly shot.
The shock hit Darius like a thunderbolt. Alcabedo had killed the enemy soldier…and saved the man in the cot. He stood there stunned for what could only have been an instant, though it stretched out for him, time almost at a standstill while he realized what had just happened. He was finally pulled from his thoughts by the sound on the com, the same words again and again. “General, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Ernesto,” he replied, shaking off the surprise. “Nice shot!”
He moved forward. He knew it was careless, and he could see Alcabedo coming up on his side, rifle out, looking for enemies. Discipline, even the experienced of a dozen battlefields, had its limits. And Darius Cain couldn’t wait. He had to know. Now.
He pushed forward toward the cot, throwing a stack of equipment out of his way as he did. He stopped at the edge of the bed, and he looked down at the man lying there. His face was drawn, thin from malnutrition. There were scars, the marks of what must have been hundreds of beatings.
He lay under a thin white sheet, and Darius could see the wretched form below. There were bandages in half a dozen places, crusty with dried blood. The captive soldier had said the prisoner been shot...and the man lying in the bed had indeed been shot.
Darius had come lightyears, attacked an entire world to determine if his father was still alive. And now as he stared down at the broken man on the cot, he wasn’t sure. Of all the things he’d expected, the traps and the resistance of his enemies, the brutal struggle to break into the heart of the Citadel, he’d been sure he would recognize his father. But the man lying before him was so changed, so withered by ill treatment…
Darius felt a wave of rage, at the way the man had obviously been abused…and at himself. How
could you not know your own father…
Then the prisoner opened his eyes. They were cloudy, filmy, caked with a dried crust…but even through all of that, Darius could see the piercing blue. Eyes like his, like Elias’. Eyes like a Cain.
He felt his legs go weak, and he struggled to control himself, to hold back the tears, the avalanche of emotions that struggled to come forth.
“Father,” he said softly, looking down at the man. “Father it is me. Darius. I’ve come to get you out of here. To take you home.”
The man in the cot turned his head slowly, looking up at the armored figure staring over him. There was disorientation in his glance, and fear. But Darius could see recognition too. It was faint, confused…but it was there. “Marines?” he rasped, his tortured voice barely audible.
Darius was confused for an instant, but then he realized. He was fully armored…and his father would equate that with Marines.
“Open helmet,” he said to the AI. An instant later it retracted, and he felt the outside air. It was cooler than the perfectly climate controlled environment of his fighting suit, and the scent of alcohol was heavy. As was the smell of decay, of death.
“Father, it is Darius, your son.” He looked down into the blue eyes, saw the uncertainty, the fear. He knew this was his father, that it was Erik Cain lying there. But he also understood the torment, the unimaginable hell he had been through…a prisoner for seventeen years, tortured, isolated. Of course he doesn’t recognize you…you were fifteen when he left. But he still felt a pang of hurt. He was a feared soldier, a warrior prince, but now all he wanted was for the broken man in the cot to know who he was.
“Erik…Cain…” The man was forcing out the words, and it was clear each syllable was an effort, a painful one. “I…am…Erik…Cain…”
Darius wanted to reach out, to touch his father’s face, but his hands were armored…his whole body was wrapped in ten tons of osmium-iridium alloy. He felt confusion, almost panic. He didn’t know what to do. He could hear the sounds of battle around him, but he had ignored it all. He was vaguely aware of Alcabedo next to him.