Stars & Empire 2: 10 More Galactic Tales (Stars & Empire Box Set Collection)

by Jay Allan

  Even my own mind is conflicted. I’ve learned to manage my fear in battle, but it’s still there. Every time. It has been years since I really cared if I came back from a fight, but it doesn’t matter. It’s instinctive. No matter what my intellect dictates, how much I long for the peace of death, to lay down my burdens…my subconscious wants to survive. It pushes me, makes me use all I have within me to stay alive. And that is really starting to piss me off.

  *

  “I’m worried about him, aren’t you?” Tony Black spoke softly, though he and his cohorts were alone in the mess hall.

  “Jake’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met, Blackie.” The small plastic chair looked almost like a toy under Samuels’ huge frame. “I can’t believe he’s losing it. He’s just tired. How could he not be?”

  Hank Daniels let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Bear.” He looked at the big man then at Blackie. “Have you ever thought about how much pressure he has on him? 24/7?” He paused. “We all lean on him too. We’re his friends, but tell me there’s one person in this room who doesn’t look to Jake when he’s got a problem.”

  There was no response. They were all quiet for a minute. Daniels had put into words what they were all thinking. He was their leader, their friend. There wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t love Jake Taylor like a brother. But now they wondered, second guessed. Taylor had always been there…for all of them. Now, they questioned themselves…had they been blind to his pain…or at least the extent of it? Had they failed to be there for him?

  “I’ve known Jake for eight years. Nobody’s saying he’s losing it.” Blackie looked around the room. “But he’s more stressed now than I’ve ever seen him. He’s always been strong for us, Goddamn it, it’s time for us to be strong for him.” Black’s tone was firm, definitive. “We’re moving out at 0700 hours tomorrow. I want everyone at 150%. No slipups, no mistakes. We execute perfectly. We don’t give him a reason to worry about anything.” He looked around the room again, pausing to lock eyes with each of them in turn. “Understood?”

  “Blackie’s right.” Daniels was nodding as he spoke. “Jake needs us to back him up now. We need to be at our best tomorrow. Even more than usual.” He looked up at Blackie. “Are we all agreed?”

  Daniels was being technically insubordinate. Blackie was the highest ranked after Taylor, and anything he told them to do was, by definition, an order. But Black knew Daniels was on the same page…and what he wanted from everyone wasn’t something a command could compel. He was after everything they had deep inside…their inner strength. He wanted them to give their all, even more than they always did.

  He took a step forward toward the others and extended his hand. Daniels did it next, followed by Samuels and then Young. They grasped hands in the center of the circle.

  “For Jake.” Black said it first, and they all repeated his words. “For Jake.”

  *

  “The men are ready, Colonel.” Major Black stood next to Taylor, his body upright, almost at attention. They were about to launch the biggest battle since the war on Erastus began. Black was usually pretty relaxed, but something about the scope of the operation was making him feel more formal than usual. He was nearly as cynical as Taylor most of the time, but now he felt like they were really moving toward victory.

  Taylor looked back, a sour look passing over his face as it usually did when someone called him colonel. “Excellent.” His tone was deadpan, devoid of emotion. “That’s the third time you’ve updated me in the last fifteen minutes. What’s up with you?”

  Blackie looked back at Taylor. “Nothing’s up. It’s just one hell of a big force we’ve got here, Jake.”

  Taylor looked back suspiciously for a few seconds then smiled. “That it is, my friend.” He let out a long breath. “We will advance as soon as the Dragonfires complete their second attack run.” The gunships had already made one pass, and they were coming around for another. There was a wind coming in from over the enemy positions, blowing the pungent residue of the fuel air bombs over Taylor’s troops.

  The objective was a crucial one, the main enemy base and Machine production center on the planet. The location of the facility was the enemy’s most closely guarded secret on Erastus, but a simple communications intercept had disclosed its location.

  Taylor was suspicious. The enemy was never careless, and this error had been downright reckless. His instincts smelled a trap. But no one listened to his warnings. The high command saw a chance to slice years off the duration of the war, and they were determined to seize the opportunity. Their greed for a victory overruled caution. Taylor was ordered to take command of the operation over his boisterous objections. He knew what it would mean to refuse, what a betrayal it would be to his friends…and to Hope. He had not forgotten Kazan’s threat, and he knew they would pay the price for his defiance. Taylor didn’t care what they did to him…threats against him didn’t give them any leverage. But the small circle of people he truly cared for…they were his Achilles heel.

  He may not have been able to cancel the attack, but he was damned sure going to run things the way he saw fit. He’d chosen an LZ 10 kilometers from the target and marched the rest of the way, with clouds of scouts out in all directions.

  He heard the sound of the Dragonfires raking the enemy positions with autogun fire. The first pass had been devastating, but Taylor had ordered the second attack anyway. He didn’t know what the enemy was up to, but he was sure it was something. He was damned sure going to do everything he could to protect his forces…against whatever was waiting for them.

  “Colonel Taylor, Major MacArthur here.” Taylor and MacArthur still didn’t really get along, but they’d learned to respect each other after a fashion. “The second attack run is complete. Returning to base to rearm.”

  “Very well, Major.” Taylor’s enhanced eyes were scanning the raging hell of the enemy position. “It looks like you really smacked them hard.” MacArthur was an arrogant shit, but Taylor figured he could be a big enough man to praise a job well done.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” The gunship commander couldn’t keep all the surprise out of his voice. “MacArthur out.”

  Taylor sighed. He was still troubled, worried about what surprises the enemy had in store for his people. But if he couldn’t get out of attacking, now was the time to get started. He turned and looked at Black. “Blackie, it’s time for you to get up there. You may commence your attack when ready.”

  *

  Taylor paced back and forth in the command post. He hated being back from the action when his men were in the battle line, but he was responsible for 3 full battalions, and he couldn’t do his job pinned down in some foxhole. He hated every minute of it. He longed to turn over the burden of command to someone else, and go back and run his section. But he knew his responsibilities…there were 3,500 men fighting out there, and every one of them was depending on him.

  “Jake...” It was Blackie, reporting in. “…they’re pulling back. MacArthur’s birds must have really kicked the crap out of them, because they aren’t putting up much of a fight.”

  It was good news, but it made his stomach lurch. He was expecting some sort of a trap, and this only made him more suspicious. “Blackie…” Taylor’s voice was firm, but the tension was obvious too. “…keep your eyes open, OK? I mean really open.” He paused. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “They’re wide open, Jake. And the rest of the guys too. We’re all looking for any kind of trap or surprise.” Black’s tone was reassuring. He was worried about the stress he heard in Taylor’s voice, and he wanted to do everything he could to help his friend shoulder the burden he carried.

  “Thanks, Blackie.” Taylor sounded a little relieved. He knew Black’s little show of being calm was bullshit, but it still made him feel better. A little. “Keep me posted.”

  “Colonel Taylor!” It was Lieutenant Brandon, manning the scanner. “Enemy air inbound. Defensive squadrons are moving to intercept, but the
y’re going to be outnumbered.” He paused and looked over at Taylor. “Heavily outnumbered.”

  Fuck, Taylor thought…most of MacArthur’s birds were on their way back to base to refuel and rearm. “I knew something was going on.” He muttered under his breath.

  Taylor reopened the line to Black. “Blackie, we’ve got an enemy air attack coming in. A big one. All units deploy anti-air assets immediately.”

  “Got it, Jake.” He could hear yelling in the background. Black’s people had detected the incoming enemy birds themselves, and they were already preparing. “We’ll be ready.”

  Taylor cut the line. Black had his hands full, and he didn’t need more distraction. He walked across the room and stared at the monitor over Brandon’s shoulder. The entire screen was covered with small red triangles…wave after wave of enemy antigravs heading right for his army.

  *

  The sound was almost deafening. The enemy gunships were plastering the area around the command post, dropping hundreds of incendiary bombs, surrounding the HQ with an impenetrable circle of flame.

  Taylor was hunkered down in a foxhole, just outside the portable command shelter. He’d ordered everyone out and into defensive positions as soon as the enemy air wings vectored toward headquarters. He was sure it was the trap he’d been expecting…the enemy wanted to take out HQ and the communications nexus before hitting the rest of the force with a counterattack. It was a good plan…far more innovative than the Machines usually managed. If they could badly damage 3 battalions, they could indefinitely delay the offensive against their base, and even reverse the momentum of the struggle.

  But the command post was still standing, and not a man of Taylor’s staff had been hit. They were cut off from the rest of the force, trapped by the inferno the enemy antigravs had unleashed. But they were unhurt.

  Taylor’s mind was racing. What, he thought…what am I missing? The enemy air units had paid heavily to break through the defensive squadrons MacArthur had left behind. His best guess was that the enemy massed most of their planetary airpower to stage this operation…and lost almost half of it in the process. Why were they failing to exploit their surprise?

  He heard the loud whooshing sound of an anti-air rocket launching. HQ had two AA batteries, and Taylor had his best men on them. They’d brought down four of the enemy birds so far, and both launchers were still in operation. There wasn’t room to reposition after firing, and Jake had expected them both to be knocked out quickly. But the enemy didn’t seem to be targeting them…or anything else inside the outer perimeter.

  “Transports incoming!” It was Lieutenant Brandon shouting from his foxhole. He’d grabbed one of the portable scanner stations and took it with him when Taylor ordered the command post abandoned. The thing was small enough for one man to move, and it had enough battery power for at least 8 hours of constant operation.

  Taylor turned slowly, looking over toward Brandon’s position. Strange, he thought…why would they land troops in here when they can take us out from the air?

  “I’ve got 6 transports inbound to this position, sir.” Brandon sounded as confused as Taylor.

  “All personnel, prepare to repulse airborne assault.” He pulled his own assault rifle off his back, double-checking the magazine as he did.”

  He directed a quick thought to the implanted com unit, opening the command line to Black. “Blackie, it looks like they’re going to try to land some troops to take out the command post.” He paused, scanning the area ahead of him carefully, looking for the first glimpse of the incoming antigravs. “What the hell’s going on out there?”

  “I’m trying to get two strikeforces back to you, Jake.” Black sounded almost frantic. “But we can’t get through that bombardment corridor. They keep pouring more ordnance into that zone.”

  “Fuck us…you worry about the rest of the men. Are they hitting you guys hard?”

  “Not at all.” Black sounded as surprised saying it as Taylor was hearing it. “They’re pulling back all along the front, and the air units are concentrating everything on your perimeter.” He paused. “I don’t get it.”

  Taylor sighed. “Me either.” He hesitated, staring out, looking for the approaching enemy. There was something…a tiny speck, growing, coming closer. Then another…and another.

  “They’re coming in now, Blackie.” Taylor brought up the assault rifle, his eyes unmoving, focused on the approaching aircraft. “You keep your eyes open out there. You understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Black rarely called Jake “sir,” but he did this time. “You can count on me.”

  “I know, brother. Just be careful and come the fuck back from this mess.” Taylor cut the line. He didn’t have time for a protracted discussion, and neither did Black. His second in command knew his shit. Now Taylor had to trust him to do his job.

  The transports were clearly visible now, coming in fast. Taylor watched, eyeballing the spot he figured they’d put down…but they kept coming, flying 60 meters above the ground.

  “What the fuck?” Taylor whispered to himself as the transports continued, zipping straight overhead. He looked up, watching them fly by. They were dropping something…small spherical devices. Taylor activated the unitwide com as he lurched up with his rifle and began firing. “They’re dropping something! Some type of…”

  A blinding light filled the sky. Taylor’s body convulsed wildly, falling to the ground. It felt like a little like an electrical shock, but somehow different too…more. He couldn’t move his body voluntarily, or stop his limbs from twitching uncontrollably. He was disoriented, confused, unable to speak or even focus his thoughts. Then everything went black.

  Chapter 17

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  The Cause. History is full of war, of death, of sacrifice…of unimaginable brutality. All in the name of the Cause. The mighty Cause.

  It is not the idea of fighting for a cause that saddens me so. It is the ease with which people devote themselves to it. Men have flocked into the streets, marched, argued, fought, killed…for causes they didn’t even understand. They do it because they follow along, to be part of the group…or because they don’t want to be left out. Because they are told to, or because they crave to be part of something. They follow the Cause for many reasons, with great passion and staggering ignorance. Disturbingly rare among them, are people who fight because they truly understand the reasons for their struggle. Most are simply followers, nipping at the heels of their leaders, like dogs begging for scraps.

  Throughout history, men have fought for uncounted reasons. For land, for money, for hegemony over their neighbors. They have fought for religion, to avenge insults, to impose belief systems…or to resist such being forced upon them. Wars have been waged to preserve or eliminate slavery, to escape the yoke of political masters…or to impose such rule upon others. Men have fought against those they branded inferiors…and struggled against those who called themselves their betters.

  The drum has beaten the call to war throughout history, rallying men and women to fight for the Cause…to accept the inevitable pain and suffering of war. To sacrifice sons and daughters to the slaughter. To see cities burn and millions die in confusion, agony, and despair. All for the Cause.

  Since the dawn of recorded history, the flags have waved and the crowds have cheered. The soldiers have marched…they have marched to fight for the Cause.

  What did most of them get back from those who called them to war? Famine, disease, shortages, despair. Burned cities and broken dreams. A flag-draped coffin in place of a live son or daughter. Words, endless, professionally-written platitudes, offered by the masters in justification of the slaughter.

  How often was the Cause truly just, worth the pain and death and horror of war? How many of those billions, who took to the streets for 5,000 years and cheered and sang and rallied for the Cause…how many of them really understood? What percentage took the time to consider the facts, the situation…to question what they were
told and ultimately decide for themselves if the Cause was true and righteous? How many mindlessly believed the words of their masters, giving their all to a cause they didn’t even comprehend? A Cause that wasn’t worthy of their sacrifice?

  What if the Cause is false, corrupt…a fraud created simply to urge men to fight? What if it serves nothing more than the base purposes of the leaders, buying them power with the blood of the people? What does the reasonable man, the just man, do if he discovers the Cause is false? Is there any retribution, any action, any violence unjustified in punishing those responsible? Could any horror that the oppressed and manipulated victims visit upon their former masters be unjustified. Does righteous vengeance become the new Cause?

  *

  Taylor was staring straight up. He was in a room, though that was about all he could tell. He could see the light in the ceiling, but it was hazy, distant. Everything else was a confused blur. He tried to think, to remember where he was, how he’d gotten there.

  His head ached…his whole body throbbed with soreness. He felt like he’d been turned inside out and then back again. He tried to lift his head, but the room started spinning. He caught himself, choked back the vomit he felt starting to rising.

  “Colonel Taylor, I want to welcome you.” The voice was coming from the side, somewhere he couldn’t see. It was English, but there was something odd about it, something he couldn’t place. It was an accent he’d never heard, but there was more than just that. “Please do not try to rise yet. I am afraid we were forced to use a neural stun beam in order to facilitate bringing you here.” There was a short pause. “I am afraid the effects can be rather disorienting…especially on your species.”

  I’m a prisoner, Jake thought. The Machines…no, the Tegeri…have captured me. He was scared, overwhelmed. His grim lack of concern for himself was gone, replaced by a gaping fear of the unknown. I am laid bare, defenseless before my enemy, he thought. It was one thing to accept the inevitability of death, and quite another to stare into the face of the unknown, to deal with utter helplessness.