Crimson Worlds: 07 - The Shadow Legions

by Jay Allan

  “Understood, sir.” A short pause. “Moving out now.”

  “I want a report if you see so much as a leaf flutter over there. Understood?” Storm didn’t really need any confirmation, however. He’d already come to a conclusion. The enemy was going to hit the left hard. Well, two could play at that game. He flipped his com channel again. “Captain Barrington…” – Barrington commanded two strike forces on the extreme right - “the enemy is about to attack our left. You are to advance and assault their exposed left.” He hoped it would be exposed, at least.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two can play at this game, not just…” He paused…he didn’t know what to call this enemy. They were human, and they had the same equipment and doctrine as Alliance Marines. That was all he knew. And he didn’t think Erik Cain or any of the rest of the high command knew much more. He shook his head. That’s not my problem now, he thought, forcing his thoughts back to the battle. Whomever they are, wherever they came from, they’re here. That’s all that matters.

  “And, captain…I need you to hit them hard. You’ll be outnumbered, so the first few minutes are crucial.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Yes, Storm thought. Barrington knows just what I need from his people.

  Anderson-45 was running up and down his lines, rallying his troops, driving them forward against the relentless fire. He’d thought he had the Marines broken more than once, but each time they’d fallen back a few kilometers and formed another line. He’d lost a third of his troops, and the regiments on either side were even worse off. The enemy was suffering too, but no matter how many his people killed, the cursed Marines simply refused to break. They made his troops pay in blood for every bitter step and then pulled back to another position.

  Now they’d broken off again, slipping farther to the north after blooding his battalions yet again. It was beyond frustrating. Every time he thought he had them, they slipped away, found a newer, stronger position. And each time they broke contact they managed to slip out of engagement range, forcing him to reform his forces and pursue.

  He knew his troops were good…but there was something these Marines had that his own people lacked. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he didn’t know if he’d understand it anyway. But it was more than the skill of the troops. It was leadership. Anderson-45 followed every regulation, every bit of training. He led his regiment with flawless competence. But the commanders he was facing were better, more unpredictable. The Shadow Corps was one of the best fighting formations in human space…Anderson-45 knew that. But as close as the legions had come, the Marines were better still.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to save them. He had reinforcements moving north even now, and he knew the Marines had none. The enemy would make this a costly affair, but in the end it wouldn’t change a thing. And they were running out of forest. Another few kilometers, and they’d be out in the open. Then Anderson-45’s numbers would tell.

  “OK Marines, listen up.” Cain’s voice was unmistakable on the com. He was addressing every man and woman in Storm’s shattered command, and in his voice they heard a strength, a firmness that drew from them every ounce of stamina and determination they had left. “We’re going to hold this line.” He paused, and when he continued his voice was louder, more determined. “We’re going to hold here, and we will fight to the last man. If we do not turn the enemy back on this line, there won’t be anyone left to retreat.” He paused again. He was rallying these battered Marines. Every one of them knew they had their best chance if they held their ground, didn’t allow themselves to get pushed back into the open. But they were exhausted…and many of them were wounded. Men and women were still human, no matter how well trained they were, how many times they’d been in battle. They had a breaking point, and when they reached it, reason went out the window. Cain wasn’t sure he fully understood his complex relationship with his Marines, but he knew one thing for sure. When he stood with them, shoulder to shoulder, they would hold firm if the devil himself was charging through these woods. “And I will be here with you. My rifle will fire with yours.” Another pause. “And together we will hold this line!”

  He couldn’t hear them all, but he knew they were cheering. Men were simple creatures, really, and Erik Cain knew how to work them up, drive them forward, probably to their deaths. He wasn’t sure he understood it, but he’d seen it in action enough times to know it was true. And he knew they would draw strength from his presence, from knowing their general was here in the thick of things, fighting alongside them.

  “They’re coming, sir.” It was Storm again, confirming what Cain already saw on his monitor. The next enemy wave was a klick away and moving fast. And it was a big one.

  “Blow those bridges now.” McDaniels gritted her teeth as she yelled to her forward units. The pain was almost unbearable, but she was trying like hell to ignore it. She knew she wasn’t going to make it off this battlefield, but she had work to do, and she’d be Goddamned if she wasn’t going to see it done before she died.

  She winced again. Shit luck, she thought. The rounds had hit her square in the chest, and, by luckless chance, they’d wrecked her trauma control system too. She could feel the slickness of her blood pouring out of the wounds and down her body, and she endured the pain, without so much as an aspirin from the shattered circuitry of her suit’s destroyed med system.

  She was close enough to watch her people prepping the demo. They’d paid heavily to take control of the bridges. Her advance elements were hard at work, laying the heavy charges. She wasn’t just going to cut the bridges, leaving an easy repair for the enemy engineers. She was going to obliterate them. She would leave nothing to fix. And then her people would form up along the bank…and blow the living shit out of any enemy force that tried to rebuild.

  She coughed, tasting the metallic blood in her spittle. Colonel Clarkson would be in command by then, she thought, a whirlwind of emotions struggling to escape from the back of her mind. She was grateful she could focus on finishing this job. Otherwise, she’d have nothing but the fear. She was holding it together, her training and experience mostly in control. But the terror was there too…stark and black, crawling around the edge of her thoughts. She knew death was staring her in the face. McDaniels had never been particularly religious, but now she wasn’t sure what to think…to expect. She’d seen thousands of Marines die, and the old adages were true. Lying in the mud, their lives slipping slowly away, many found God. Whether it was something real…or just the last mental defenses of broken and dying men and women, she didn’t know. She didn’t even know what she believed herself.

  “The charges are set, General.”

  She shook herself back to the moment. There was a voice on her com. It was Captain Carlyle, the chief engineer. “Very well, captain.” Her voice was hoarse, hard to understand. She cleared her throat hard, spitting out the bloody saliva. “Get your men out of there so we can blow those things.”

  She turned, moving back toward the woods. She coughed again, still trying to clear her voice. “All units, retreat to the wood line immediately.” She got the command out clearly…at least she hoped she did. She staggered back herself, stepping a few meters into the forest and turning to face the river.

  She felt the fatigue taking control of her, weakness in her limbs, her joints. The suit did most of the work, especially an Obliterator, and she knew that was the only reason she was still standing. She waited two minutes, trying desperately to stay focused, to avoid her mind drifting off into gauzy daydreams. Finally, she flipped the comlink back on. “Captain…detonate the charges.”

  Cain knew as soon as he heard her voice. McDaniels was reporting the destruction of the bridges. Her people had done it…they’d blown all three, bought the army a chance to stabilize the lines in the Sentinel. And just in time. Somehow Storm’s tattered and weary Marines had beaten back the last assault, but Cain knew the next would be the final one.

  He’d known McDaniels’ objec
tive wouldn’t come cheap, but now he was starting to understand the full price he had paid. That she had paid.

  My people…” - she coughed, and Cain could hear the fluid sounds from her pierced lungs - “…are dug in along the riverbank, sir.” Her voice was weak. There was fear there, and pain…but satisfaction and pride too. She’d done what Cain had sent her to do. She’d completed her mission. And possibly saved the entire army.

  “General McDaniels, report to a field hospital at once.” His expression was grim. The command was an empty gesture, and he knew it. The nearest aid station was kilometers away, through the dense tangle of the Sentinel’s woods. McDaniels would never make it.

  “It’s OK, sir.” He could hear her labored breath. She knew it was too late, just as Cain did. “Don’t worry about me. Just send these bastards to hell.”

  “Erin…” Cain’s voice was struggling. He was trying to keep his solid, emotionless demeanor, but the grief was welling up inside him. Another friend, he thought…another trusted comrade I sent to her death. “…I can’t tell you how magnificently you performed with the Obliterators.” His voice was raw, edgy. “I can’t even begin to count how many Marines your people have saved. Or how we could possibly have survived the First Imperium War without you.” Cain took a deep, forced breath, taking an instant to regain his grip on himself. “You are one of the best Marines I have ever known.”

  The com was almost silent for a few seconds, nothing but the rattling sound of McDaniels’ labored breath. Finally, she said, “Thank you, sir. Erik. It has been a privilege to serve under you.” She coughed, trying to clear her throat again, to force breath down as her lungs filled with her own blood. “Now forget about me, sir…and go win the battle.”

  Erin McDaniels lay on her back, her hands fumbling with the visor controls. The sky, she thought dreamily…just one more look at the sky. Her fingers were slick with blood, and they slid around the controls, fumbling, finally hitting the lever. The visor snapped open. Her eyes were watery, and her vision was blurry at first, slowly focusing.

  The sky was brilliant blue…a beautiful day, warm and clear, with a soft breeze. A fine day for anything she thought…even to die. Her teeth were gritted tightly. The pain was intense, though she could feel it beginning to recede as she drifted slowly away.

  She could hear her people clustered around her, feel her body moving as they poked at her, tried desperately to give her first aid. It felt very far off, a haziness to it all. She was proud of her Marines, all of them. She’d created the Obliterator corps; from its infancy she’d been its CO. Cain had put enormous trust in her, turning the new weapon system over to her, relying on her ability to forge it into the weapon he needed. She forced a tiny smile to her lips. She’d done that, she knew. She had repaid Cain’s trust and justified his confidence in her. Through the pain and the fear she felt something else. Satisfaction. Pride. She’d done her duty.

  The sky was darker now, the sun dimmer, somehow farther away. She couldn’t feel her people anymore, couldn’t hear anything but the rattling sound of every labored breath. The pain…that was gone too. She couldn’t feel anything. Just floating, drifting along…quiet, painless. Nothing but fleeting thoughts, random, drifting in and out of her mind. Then silence, calm, blackness.

  “Colonel Clarkson, leave a covering force along the river line and advance north.” Cain’s voice was raw, angry. As always, he’d forced his emotions down deep during the battle. All that remained was anger at the enemy, heightened by the need to avenge yet another friend. “General McDaniels’ sacrifice is not going to be in vain.” He meant that with every fiber of his being, but he was manipulating Clarkson too. He wanted McDaniels’ people lusting for revenge, savoring the deaths of every enemy soldier. Some battles required finesse and elegance, but this was going to be a bare knuckled brawl in the deep woods. Under the soaring trees of the Sentinel, the Marines who still survived were going to fight it out with the invaders trapped north of the river. If they won, they’d achieve a stalemate, and the battle would go on, probably after a much-needed lull. If not, the enemy would have Armstrong…and Erik Cain and his Marines would be dead. He knew it would be a savage fight…indeed, he would make sure of it.

  “Yes sir.” Clarkson’s voice was thick with vengeful rage. McDaniels had been an enormously popular commander. “Understood.”

  Cain cut the line and turned his head. “OK, Eliot.” Storm was standing next to Cain, and both men had their visors retracted. “Let’s get your boys and girls moving south again. We’ll hit this attack as it’s coming in. That should surprise these bastards.” He paused, the determination growing inside him, becoming something elemental. “We’ve retreated as far as we’re going to.”

  “Yes, sir.” Storm’s tone was determined, angry, bitter. “Not one more step back.” His people had already rebuffed the last enemy advance, hitting them hard in the flank and disordering their whole attack. He was going to make sure Captain Barrington got the Marine Cross for it too. Though he wasn’t sure how much good a posthumous medal could do the fallen hero.

  He and Cain stood silently for a moment, staring off into the tangled mass of trees. They didn’t have a chance against the force they were about to fight, at least not straight up. But Clarkson and two-thirds of McDaniels’ survivors were moving north…against the enemy’s rear. It wasn’t hopeless. They had a chance, maybe even a good one. As long as the Obliterators made it in time.

  Chapter 25

  CWS Suleiman

  Deep Space

  Near the Samarkand System

  Admiral Abbas sat quietly on the bridge, an angry scowl on his face. He stifled another cough. Despite the best efforts of the ventilation system, the stink still hung in the air, a combination of smoke and burnt machinery. He was exhausted, his mind almost punch drunk. He decided he’d rather march into a First Imperium fortress armed with a butter knife than relive the last 12 hours.

  He tried to ignore the four armed men standing behind him, but it wasn’t easy. The armored Janissaries were massive figures, rigid and unmoving. He’d almost ordered them to leave half a dozen times, but he’d held back. He doubted they’d obey his orders anyway. Ali Khaled had sent them to protect Abbas…and he’d given them a strict command to guard the admiral at all times. No one but Khaled could countermand that order. Not with the Janissaries. The silent, menacing figures followed him everywhere. Abbas hadn’t so much as gone to the bathroom unprotected. The Janissaries had their own code of honor and obedience. It was all crazy secret handshake stuff as far as Abbas was concerned, but the elite footsoldiers took it seriously. They considered themselves a sacred brotherhood, and they took matters of honor very seriously. They were as bad that way as the Alliance Marines they’d fought for so many years, he thought…maybe even worse.

  Things had gone better than he’d had any right to expect, but still, he’d never felt worse in his life. Fighting his own people, watching armored Janissaries gunning down members of his crews…it was almost more than he could bear. He told himself he’d had no choice, but he knew that wasn’t exactly true. More accurately, there’d been no other option that would have preserved his own hide. He didn’t know why the Caliph had ordered a purge, but Abbas knew he could have just let it happen. Instead, he’d resisted, gone rogue and taken the fleet with him. To save his own life.

  No, he thought defensively, arguing with himself, not just my life. The lives of almost three dozen innocent naval officers, all of whom were to be executed if Roderick Vance’s information was to be believed. Abbas was usually a skeptical man, but he couldn’t convince himself to doubt Vance’s intel. If he hadn’t acted, 34 of his most loyal and capable officers would be dead right now, their names blackened by false treason charges. He shook his head. Not that he’d been able to save their names. Now they were actually traitors, at least from the government’s point of view. But they were also alive. All but the four who’d died in the fighting. He still didn’t know how many hundreds of naval c
rew had been killed in the combat for control of the fleet…a battle fought so that 30 senior officers could live.

  He’d thought about keeping the truth from the crews, taking off for the Rim and inventing some cover story until he could figure out what to do. But that was never a workable plan. The fleet was riddled with informers and intelligence agents. He’d identified many of them, but he didn’t even try to fool himself…there was no way he’d found them all. The trouble started the instant he took out the incoming vessels, the ones carrying his executioners. He addressed the fleet immediately afterward, but things quickly deteriorated into civil war.

  Most of the crews backed Abbas and Khaled. They had gone to the farthest reaches of explored space under these men…and saved all mankind from destruction in the process. When their loyalties were put to the test, they followed the officers who’d led them in combat, the ones who’d brought them back from the apocalypse of war with the First Imperium. But a significant minority, manipulated and driven forward by the implanted intelligence operatives, remained loyal to the Earth government, and the officers of this faction attempted to take control of the fleet. There was fighting on every ship…and later between vessels controlled by opposing factions.

  It was over now, all but some residual mopping up. Abbas had ordered the captured intelligence operatives shot, but he didn’t know what to do with the thousands of crew members now in makeshift brigs all over the fleet. They were still his people, and their only crime was remaining loyal to their oaths. His ships were understaffed, and he wished he could just release them all and send them back to their posts. But that was impossible. They had taken up arms against him. There was no way he could trust them again, however much he understood their justifications. But he wasn’t going to just line them up and shoot them. That was unthinkable.