by Jay Allan
Claren’s display flashed red…new fire. “Incoming.” He shouted to the emergency crews, already diving for cover as he did. The civilians hesitated an instant before following his lead, their lack of combat reflexes showing.
The first explosion was on the outskirts of town, a mostly abandoned area containing nothing but empty warehouses. The second hit closer, right in the middle of a high-end residential area. Those who lived there had been evacuated, but Claren knew the blast would start more fires…and right in the center of the city this time. The conflagration would spread in all directions if he didn’t get to it soon.
“I need crews 3 and 4 ready to move out in two minutes.” He yelled into the com, wondering as he did if the civilians would come out of their hiding places and follow him. He felt nothing but admiration for these emergency workers, but he’d have given his left arm for a company of armored Marines. “We’ve got fires in the Park West district, and we need to get them under control now. He lunged out from behind the plasti-steel girder, waving his arms for the crews to follow.
He was watching them move slowly to follow when the area behind him was engulfed in flame and smoke. The force of the explosion threw his armored body hard against a wall. He felt a stabbing pain…then the flow of drugs that shut it down. He was lying at the base of a large building, disoriented, but he quickly realized he wasn’t badly wounded. It’s just my arm, he thought, trying to twist his body around and get up. The workers who’d lined up behind him were just gone. Without armor they’d been blown to bits by the exploding shell.
Despite what happened, the rest of the crews were coming out from their cover. They weren’t Marines, he thought, but they had their own courage. He was proud of them, as much as he was of his own comrades in arms. He saw three of them running over to him, rushing to his aid…just as the wall collapsed and buried him under ten tons of rubble.
Alex Linden sat quietly on the cold ground, leaning against the wall of one of the portable shelters. She’d been trying to reach Cain when the Marines poured into Astria and started evacuating everyone. She almost tried telling one of the officers she was Sarah Linden's sister, but she stopped just before it came out of her mouth. This was no time for carelessness. She had no idea where Cain was, or how many of his people would be around him. He’d seen her on Carson’s World during the final battle of the Third Frontier War, and he’d probably remember her. If she told him she was Sarah’s sister he would be immediately suspicious. She’d only have one brief opportunity…and none at all if Cain was surrounded by his Marines.
Perhaps he won’t remember, she thought, dismissing the hope in an instant. Betting her life on Erik Cain forgetting something seemed terribly unwise, especially since he’d been startled at her resemblance to Sarah. No, there was no chance he wouldn’t recognize her. And that made this operation a knife’s edge proposition.
It had been a hard decision to move forward and try to kill Cain. Her old resolve, the emotionless way she approached things, was gone. She’d carried immense anger and resentment toward the sister she thought was dead, blaming her for the nightmare that had destroyed her family and cast her into the violent ghettoes as a child. That rage had driven her, made her the relentless killer who had risen to the highest levels of Alliance Intelligence.
Finding Sarah alive and actually seeing her, spending time with her…it cracked the foundation of that deadly resolve. It was easier to blame a shadow, a memory, than an actual flesh and blood sister. For the first time in her adult life, Alex Linden was confused, unsure what to do…or even how she felt.
She didn’t want to kill Cain. She didn’t have any quarrel with him herself, and she didn’t want to cause Sarah the pain. But it wasn’t that simple. Underestimating Gavin Stark would be an enormously foolish thing to do, and Stark had ordered her to assassinate Cain. She didn’t really believe Stark would forgive her past failure and take her back into the fold…she knew she’d have to kill him if she was going to survive. But that would have to wait. There was no way to get to him now. And if she didn’t kill Cain soon, she knew he’d retaliate. He’d have her killed…and probably Sarah too. Alex wasn’t going to let that happen. Not to Sarah. There had been so much anger toward her sister, so much bitterness over the years. Oaths of hatred she’d sworn when she was doing the things she had to do to survive. But everything was different now…the anger was still there, but there was something else too. Sarah was the only link Alex had to a family she thought she’d lost long ago. Whatever she felt, she knew she couldn’t let Sarah die.
Erik Cain was a different matter. There was no animosity, no anger, no desire to kill the celebrated Marine. But there was no other way. She had enough of the cold, analytical resolve left to decide that Cain had to die.
She knew he was going to be hard to reach during the battle. She didn’t have any solid intel on what was happening to the south, but she expected the fighting was raging. With Cain’s reputation, he could be anywhere from the main HQ to leading a squad on the front lines.
She rose slowly to her feet, walking toward the perimeter of the camp. Well, she thought, wherever he is, I’m not going to find him in here. She walked toward one of the perimeter fences. The camp wasn’t a detention facility, but it was surrounded by modular wall sections. The guards – mostly Astria police – were patrolling, trying to keep people from wandering off where they could get caught in the fighting or lost in the wilderness.
She wandered near the wall, trying not to draw attention to herself. She found a spot behind a row of portable storage sheds that blocked the view from the rest of the camp. With one quick move, she leapt over to the wall and upward, grabbing onto a hinge between sections. She was about to pull herself up and over when she heard it. Someone had walked around behind the sheds.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
She didn’t have to turn to know it was one of the guards.
“Please come down from there. You may get injured.” His voice was soothing. He obviously thought she was a normal civilian, and the confinement and stress had gotten to her. “It is dangerous outside of the camp.”
She held in a sigh as she hopped down to the ground. She’d really hoped to just slip away. Alex Linden was questioning many things she’d believed, but she was still a veteran assassin and intelligence operative. Her reflexes acted on their own, while her conscious mind debated what to do. She pretended to fall forward, and the guard instinctively lunged, catching her.
The motion was blindingly quick. He didn’t have a chance to realize what was happening…even that anything at all was happening. She twisted, arms around his head, snapping his neck in an instant. She felt the body tense then go limp, and she released her grip, letting the dead guard slip to the ground.
She turned and jumped back on the wall, without so much as a look back, and threw herself up and over the top. Her feet slapped hard on the ground as she landed, and she ran up and over a small hillside, getting herself out of sight of the camp.
For an instant, a thought drifted through her mind…I can’t even picture the face of the man I just killed. It was something new, the kind of thing that had never troubled her before, not in all the countless times she’d killed. She felt a rush of sadness, and something else…was it guilt? She paused for an instant, quietly thinking. Then a frown took over her face and she exhaled hard. No time for this, she thought, shaking her head and putting it out of her mind as she ran to the south…toward the fighting.
“I want prisoners.” Cain’s voice was loud, not quite deafening, but heading that way. “I have made that clear. Why don’t we have any?” He paused for an instant, but continued his tirade before Merrick could speak. “Not one. Not even one!” There were half a dozen officers in the command post, every one of them pretending to be focused on something other than the commanding general’s conversation with the chief of staff.
“General…” Merrick had just had the same go around with Colonel Storm. The fighting had been raging in Senti
nel Forest for two days. The Marines had over 2,000 casualties, and by all accounts they’d inflicted far more than they’d taken. Yet not one live prisoner had been captured. “…all field units have been advised to collect live prisoners.” He paused, his face twisting, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “We have preliminary evidence to suggest that the trauma control systems of the enemy’s fighting suits have been modified to inject a fatal dose of barbiturates to non-ambulatory wounded personnel.”
Cain had turned to look at the main display, but his head snapped back to face Merrick. He had a formidable reputation for cold-bloodedness and for applying the brutal mathematics of war, but the thought of any army murdering its own wounded was beyond anything even Erik Cain could imagine. “Is this wild conjecture to excuse the lack of prisoners, or do we have real evidence?”
“Information is still sparse, general.” Merrick’s voice didn’t project any doubt. “I don’t have anything conclusive, but if you are asking my opinion based on what I have been told, there isn’t much doubt.”
Cain’s face froze into something elemental. He didn’t know where these soldiers had come from, whether it was one or more of the Powers behind this…or some other unknown adversary. But whoever or whatever it was, Cain decided then and there…it didn’t need to be defeated. It needed to be utterly destroyed, crushed so completely that even memory of it would fade.
“I want to know who we are fighting, Isaac.” Cain stared into his number two’s eyes. “I want to know now.”
“I want to know too, Erik.” Merrick held up under Cain’s icy stare, making him part of a small, elite group. “I just don’t know how to find out.”
“I want prisoners, Isaac.” Cain spoke with a resolve as solid as granite. “No matter what it takes.”
Chapter 22
Saw Tooth Gorge
Red Mountains
Northern Territories, Far Concordia
Arcadia – Wolf 359 III
“Kara, we’re picking up transmissions on the military frequencies.” Ed Calvin was standing outside her tent, shouting excitedly.
“What?” Her voice was soft, groggy. She’d been having trouble sleeping and just drifted off an hour before. “What kind of message?” The tent flap opened, and she walked out wearing rumpled fatigues, her coat draped over her shoulders.
“A general query for any Arcadian forces still in the field.” He saw the suspicious look forming on her face. “I know, I know…I didn’t respond. I wanted to talk to you first.” He paused uncomfortably. “But what could the enemy gain if it’s a trick of some kind? They know exactly where we are. As long as we don’t divulge any specific status info, what can it hurt to answer?”
Kara stood silently, looking back at Calvin. She was still waking up, her mind clearing slowly. Caution had been her first impulse, but Calvin was right. They had nothing to lose. “OK, Ed.” She nodded slowly. “Let’s answer and see what this is all about.” She wriggled, sliding her arms into her coat as she began walking toward the communications tent.
Calvin walked alongside, following her the 30 meters or so to the com center. He blew into his hands, the breath visible in the cold morning air. Winter was coming on fast, and up in the mountains it was going to be hard on the army. They had a couple nuclear-powered heaters that would last the winter, but they wouldn’t do the job alone, and there wasn’t nearly enough fuel to run the conventional units until spring. They’d been worried mostly about food and ammunition, but it took more than that to sustain thousands of soldiers indefinitely.
Kara threw aside the flap of the com tent and ducked inside. “Are we still getting transmissions?” She stared down at Captain Larson, the senior com officer in the army. A junior technician had been on duty, but when the receivers started blasting out transmissions, she called Larson immediately.
“Yes, commander.” Kara didn’t have a formal military title, and the troops had been uncertain how to address her with the proper respect. Eventually, commander became the standard form of address, though it had spread organically and wasn’t based on any formalized commission or comparable military rank. “The same message keeps repeating. It is coming from orbit, and the broadcast is in Alliance standard code.”
“Prepare to transmit a response. Set for translation to Alliance code A.” Kara slid to the left, making room for Calvin to come all the way inside.
Larson slid his hands across his screen and flipped a small lever. “Ready, commander. Just speak into the microphone.”
“Transmitting unit, this is Arcadia One responding to your query. What are your intentions?” Kara spoke slowly, clearly.
There was silence on the line, the tense seconds ticking slowly away. Kara was nervous. As suspicious as she was, the hope that some sort of relief had arrived lurked in her thoughts.
“Arcadia One, we are in receipt of your transmission.”
Kara let out a soft sigh. Maybe, she thought…maybe there really is help on the way.
“We are able to provide you with resupply. Please provide your coordinates and a manifest of what you require.”
Kara’s suspicions flared up again. She wasn’t about to give the enemy any intel on her supply situation. “Mute that.” She whispered softly to Larson, who flipped a lever and nodded.
“What do you think?” She was turning to face Calvin. “You think they’re trying to pump us for info? Maybe it’s the enemy, after all.”
Calvin looked uncertain. “There’s no way to know, Kara. If it is a relief force, this is what they would do…but it’s also how the enemy would try to fake us out.” He took a deep breath. “Even if they are friendlies, the enemy could still intercept our communications. There’s no guarantee they haven’t broken Alliance codes.”
Kara looked down at the ground for a few seconds. “The enemy knows where we are, right?” Her head snapped up to look at Calvin. “No harm in giving out coordinates, at least.”
“No…I can’t see any downside in that. But if we give them a manifest of supplies we could be telling the enemy what we have…and more importantly, what we don’t have. If they knew we were as low on ammo as we are, they’d probably be more aggressive.”
She nodded. “I agree.” She turned toward Larson. “Lieutenant, open the line again.”
The com officer flipped another lever. “You’re mic is live, commander.”
“Arcadia One here. We will transmit our current coordinates immediately.” She nodded to Larson, who sent the locational data.
“Cut the transmission.” Kara had an odd expression on her face, stern yet hopeful. Was it actually possible that a relief force had arrived? She took a deep breath. She’d know soon if they were friendlies…if her people had a chance to get out of these mountains alive.
He’d forgotten how intense the jarring could be. It had been years since Elias Holm had taken an assault lander down to a target planet. His rank had relegated him to the follow up waves, and the more comfortable heavy shuttles that transported supplies and heavy equipment…along with the upper echelon command.
He found it exhilarating, a feeling that quickly came back to him, along with memories from dozens of past assaults. The Gordon zigzagged wildly, following a pre-programmed evasive course. He’d almost ignored the Marine standard 36 hour intravenous feeding period before launch, but now he was glad he’d relented and followed it. He thought of himself as too much of a veteran to lose his lunch on a landing, but the human digestive system wasn’t built to endure this kind of punishment. Not without a little preparation and a good dose of pharmaceuticals.
“Sam, how’re you holding up?” He spoke into the command com, checking up on his 83 year old comrade in arms.
“Just fine, Elias.” Thomas snapped back his reply. “Don’t you worry about me, you young punk. I’ve ridden worse than this. These things are like luxury shuttles compared to our old rides…and Arcadia’s a pleasure palace compared to some of the hells I’ve fought on.”
Holm laughed. Thomas
was a character, there was no question about that. But he was right too. The Reynolds landers he and Thomas had used during the Second Frontier War bounced around a lot worse than the more modern Gordons. Back then, Holm had proven to himself you could vomit even when there was nothing in your stomach…despite a horse’s dose of anti-emetics.
There was no fire from the ground, but the landers ratcheted around anyway, following the same evasive program they would have if a hundred surface to air missiles were coming at them. Carelessness killed Marines. Holm had said it countless times, trying to beat it into the heads of little puppy jarheads…and more than a few combat vets too…guys who should have known better than they did. But he’d almost ignored his own advice. Until Sam Thomas scolded him.
Holm was nervous about the mission, worried about the retired vets he’d recruited back into service. Once a Marine, always a Marine…it was the Corps creed. But is there never a time, Holm thought, when someone has done enough? When they’ve earned the right to be left alone, to run their farms or sit in their easy chairs? He’d brought over 1,000 Marines here, men and women who’d done their service before most of James Teller’s people were born. Some of them would die here…maybe all of them. Did he have a right to lay this at their doorstep, to pull them away from hearth and home and back to the horrors of the battlefield after so many years?
His guilt walked hand in hand with his pride, his solemn respect for the men and women the Corps produced. When Thomas had spread the word, the veterans poured onto his farm, answering the call without a second thought. Other Marines were in trouble…that’s all they needed to hear. Even as he hated himself for calling them back to the colors, he waxed with admiration and respect for these veterans who answered, who came without hesitation to rally to his cause.