by Jay Allan
“I don’t want to lose them, Avery.”
A hint of surprise flashed across Sampson’s face. West knew she was speaking far more casually than she usually did. A lifetime as the fleet’s ramrod stiff commander had been tiring. Or, perhaps she just needed a friend, one that was there, sharing the situation with her.
“Then, what are we doing?” Sampson hesitated, looking as though she thought she’d gone too far with the brusqueness of her question. “I’m sorry, Admiral…I just mean, there’s no way I believe you lost your nerve back there. And, you would never lead these bastards back to Earth Two. Something is going on, but for the life of me, I can’t guess what it is.”
West almost reverted back to her old form and told Sampson to worry about her duties and not where the fleet was going. But, she didn’t.
“I’m glad you don’t believe I’ve run, Avery.” A pause. “I’m afraid not everyone agrees with you, though.”
Sampson paused, looking uncomfortable.
“It’s okay…I’m not blind. They think I’ve lost my nerve. Some of them probably figure losing Nicki was too much for me, or that I’m just too old, worn out.”
“It’s…it’s mostly the younger spacers, Admiral. I wouldn’t say they are convinced you broke and ran…but, they’re…confused.”
“I’m sure they are, Avery. But, you’re not?”
About whether you lost your nerve? No. Not a bit. About what you’re planning…yes, I’m very confused.”
West took a deep breath. She hadn’t planned to tell any of her people what was happening, not until the last possible moment. She’d always tended toward the maximum possible security around any of her operations. But, perhaps even more important, she wasn’t sure she should give them too much time to think about it. Cursing their admiral for cowardice at least gave them the hope that they were moving away from battle…not right into the worst one any of them had ever imagined.
She knew she should leave Sampson in the dark, but she needed some moral support, at least one trusted comrade in on the secret she’d been carrying alone. The only other people anywhere who knew exactly what she was doing were Max Harmon and Josie Strand.
And, she knew she shouldn’t have told Strand everything…but she’d felt compelled to tell her second-in-command what she was fighting for. And, what her comrades were doing to give her and her people the chance to obliterate the antimatter factory.
“We’re not running, Avery. And, we’re not going back to Earth Two…not exactly.” West took a deep breath and looked across the desk at her aide. “We walked into the enemy’s trap, because we couldn’t pass up the chance to eliminate their antimatter supply…but, that’s not all of it. Their trap was the bait in our trap. We want that fleet following us. We need it following us.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“We’re going to…” She told Sampson everything, the entire plan. All she’d discussed with Harmon before the fleet left…and everything she’d put in her message to Josie Strand.
She knew unloading it all didn’t have any real tactical value, that Sampson of all people would have obeyed her orders without explanation. It wouldn’t help with the morale of the crews either, or of their resentment to their commander, since none of them would know anything until it was all upon them. It was a pointless indulgence, she knew.
But it felt good to confide in someone…to have one comrade in on what she was doing.
Someone who wasn’t hundreds of lightyears away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Landing Zone Red Fist
Planet G48-II
Earth Two Date 02.24.43
Cameron stood next to the jagged crater, staring at the rough path leading down. His Marines had been fighting for days on the surface, one enemy attack after another pouring out from hidden access points and hitting his camps and defensive positions.
The First Imperium warbots were the stuff of pure nightmare, but Cameron and his people were ready in ways the Marines that had come before them couldn’t have imagined. Their armor was the most powerful and advanced human beings had ever worn into battle…and at their side, lined up almost in serried ranks silently waiting for the combat to begin, were mechanical warriors, bots looking very much like the ones the Marines were fighting against.
Cameron had never been entirely comfortable with the inclusion of bots in the Marines’ combat formations, though he hadn’t hated the development as much as General Frasier and the other Pilgrims, who’d faced the First Imperium in battle so many times, had.
Now, though, after days of fighting off relentless First Imperium attacks, he understood that hatred a bit more…though he’d also seen the Mules’ creations fighting at his peoples’ sides, taking down the attacking enemy as effectively as his most elite Marine units. He didn’t have a large number of the bots, nothing like the thousands the Mules had built for the defense of Earth Two. Transport had been the limiting factor, and both he and Frasier had agreed that actual living, breathing Marines should be the heart of the strike force.
A lot of those Marines were dead now.
The first two days had been the toughest, and his perimeter had almost collapsed in half a dozen spots. He’d rushed to the front line himself several times, and on at least one of those occasions, he truly believed his fire, and that of his immediate aides, had been the razor-thin difference that beat back the enemy.
The third day had looked to be even worse, as the First Imperium forces brought massive reinforcements to the surface. But, then a miracle happened. Josie Strand and her spacers showed up in orbit. They’d won the battle for control of the space around the planet, though, from what Cameron had been able to ascertain, they’d paid one hell of a price for that victory. Strand had lost at least half of her ships, and the rest were damaged, most severely so. Cameron had gotten the impression from his brief communications with her that she had ships floating all across the system, some crippled, others working on repairs sufficient to restore at least some level of navigation.
But, there were ships around the planet, too, orbiting in the space were the now-destroyed fortifications had once stood. A few battered and disordered ships didn’t make up a decisive force, not against an enemy that had any defenses to throw against them. But, the First Imperium orbital defenses were gone, and for all the raw fury of their ground attacks, the bots didn’t have a weapon that could reach ships in orbit.
Josie Strand’s vessels, as worn down and almost wrecked as they were, did have orbital bombardment capability…and a vengeful need to inflict damage on the First Imperium any way they could.
Cameron could still remember the relief he felt when Strand’s first communique had reached him that morning. He’d been reshuffling what remained of his defensive forces, preparing for the attack he was certain would be the final one. And, then, literally moments later, the heavens opened up and Strand’s survivors unleashed all they had on the attacking enemy robots.
The first barrage stalled the enemy attack and drove the First Imperium bots back on their starting positions. But, Cameron had known that wouldn’t be enough to turn things around, and he’d called back up to the admiral, setting up linked comm networks between the battleships in orbit and select teams of spotters on the ground. The Marines advanced and targeted the most vulnerable enemy positions…and the ships in orbit opened up and pounded them with everything they had.
It took a few more days, and a good number of ground assaults to back up the bombardments, to clear the enemy from the surface, but now Brigadier General Devon Cameron watched as his lead pickets began climbing down into the mouth of the crater, toward the location their scans had shown led to one of the enemy’s sally points…and deep into the heart of the enemy production facility.
His people had come a long way to strike a blow that would even the score between Earth Two and the First Imperium…and now he was going to see it done.
Whatever the cost.
* * *
&nbs
p; “Finish packing up his things, Henri.” Josie Strand stood along the far wall of the small room, holding a tablet in her hand. It was a compact one, and it seemed to be filled mostly with photos…images of men and women Strand didn’t know. Not that there was any reason she should have known them. Cooper McDaid had been a comrade for most of her adult life, and she’d considered the pilot a friend. Even a close friend. But, she realized now that their camaraderie was the sort so common among those who work together—serve together. She thought she knew the essence of the man, but now she was shocked at how little she knew of his personal life, his family and those close to him.
“I’ll take care of it, Admiral.” There was compassion in Hercules’ voice. Strand knew her aide was aware just how hard McDaid’s loss had hit her. And, she was surprised how much better it made her feel to have Hercule carefully packing McDaid’s things rather than just ordering a few spacers to do it. Hercule hadn’t been close to McDaid the way Strand had been, but he’d known the pilot…and he was someone Strand herself trusted to handle things carefully. Respectfully.
One last consideration for a lost friend. Not much…but all she had left to give him.
“Thank you, Hercule. I appreciate it.” Strictly speaking, she didn’t have to thank her subordinate for doing what she could have simply ordered him to do. But, Hercule was offering her more than obedience, he was giving all he could in the way of support, and she understood that well. And, as she’d told him she appreciated it.
She’d put off dealing with McDaid’s personal effects as long as she could. There had been no shortage of excuses. The battle had lasted nearly two days after the pilot’s death, and his people had gone back out four more times. By the battle’s end, there were twenty-eight pilots still active and ready for duty, less than one quarter the number that had started under McDaid. That grim total was somewhat mitigated by five pilots who’d been rescued after the fight, and another six in sickbay, wounded but expected to survive. But, even with those eleven added in, there was no disguising the fact that the fighter corps had done more than its part…and paid the price for it.
The desperate rush to the planet, and the orbital support for the beleaguered Marines on the surface had given her more time, more reasons to leave McDaid’s quarters empty and unattended. But, now, Cameron’s warriors were on their way down into the subterranean depths of the planet, on their almost hopeless quest. There was almost nothing Strand could do for the Marines now, save sending them best wishes and, of course, waiting to retrieve them, in the hope that they would succeed…and survive.
Watching on the scanner as Cameron’s people descended into the nightmare that awaited them had stripped her of her self-pity, though, and she decided then and there, it was time. Time to clean out her friend’s quarters. Time to write a note to his loved ones. Time to meet her obligations.
But, she realized she hardly knew anything about McDaid’s family. He’d rarely talked about them, or about his home life at all. She knew he was married, and that his wife’s name was Jasmine. He had two children as well, she thought she remembered, both grown by now, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever seen a picture of his family…at least not until she pulled the tablet from the small nightstand next to the bed.
She shook her head, feeling bad that she’d never gotten to know him better beyond duty, that she’d called a man friend but been utterly detached from his life beyond war.
She paused for a moment, and then she caught Hercule glancing in her direction, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should say something else.
She just nodded toward her aide. She held up the tablet and said, “I’ll take care of this myself, Henri.” Then a few seconds later, “I’m going back to the bridge now.”
She had another friend out there. Cameron and his Marines were deep underground, out of communications range. The ground station had been making regular reports, but the main strike force was cut off from their comrades on the surface as completely as they were from the fleet units in orbit.
She knew there was nothing she could do but wait…but she owed it to Cameron and his Marines to do it on the bridge, listening to every silent, frustrating moment on the comm.
Until she heard something.
Or, until she knew she couldn’t do anymore for Cameron than she could for McDaid.
* * *
The Intelligence activated its auxiliary processors. It sensed danger, and it was struggling to craft its response. The enemy fleet had performed above expectations…it had defeated the forces retained to destroy it. The main fleet was lightyears away, pursuing the enemy’s main force…and the surviving human ships completely controlled the system. The Intelligence would have sent any available forces to contest the enemy fleet, to wrest back control of the space around the planet at all costs, but there were none remaining.
The loss of control of the system was disturbing, but not critical. The base had been well-protected by ground forces, and the Intelligence had launched a massive attack, one that had been on the verge of eliminating the human ground forces…until the surviving ships arrived and provided orbital bombardment support.
The Intelligence’s surface forces had been destroyed, and now the humans were following up, entering the tunnels leading to the main installation. Perhaps more disturbing, among their forces were warbots, clearly copies of the First Imperium forces. The Intelligence was uncertain if the Regent was aware that the enemy had the capability to copy its own robot warriors.
It had to report that news to the Regent. But, there was no way, not with the enemy in control of the system…and of the planet’s surface. All the Intelligence could do was defend the base, repel the attack, and wait for the main fleet to destroy the enemy’s navy and return to the system to finish off the survivors there.
It reviewed every tactical file, analyzed every force manifest, every piece of ordnance that remained to it, from the most advanced warbots to the smallest security units. It reviewed the maps of the complex, and the path of the enemy’s advance. It selected choke points, positions where it could defend most effectively.
Perhaps most importantly, it organized its defenses to keep the enemy from the vital areas…the main accelerators, and perhaps even more crucially, the vast antimatter storage units. The slightest failure of any of the huge magnetic bottles stored there would mean the destruction of the entire facility.
Not just the factory, nor the Intelligence…but the Regent’s sole source of antimatter production.
No, that could not be allowed to happen. The Intelligence questioned the original plan, considered whether luring the enemy fleet to its destruction had been worth the risk.
It couldn’t reach a final conclusion. It was not within its range of abilities to question the Regent.
It had one purpose now…one alone.
Defeat the enemy. Stop them from reaching the inner chambers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Note From Erika West to Nicki Frette:
I am writing this more for myself than for you, no doubt. After twelve years of what hope I could cling to, what efforts the medical community could make, I finally have to accept that you are gone from me forever. I cannot express the pain caused, even by writing those fateful words here, now. Even if you somehow, against all odds and reason, recover one day, and I do not return from the terrible battle looming before me, what chance is there of this message reaching Earth Two? The battle about to begin is likely to see most of my people—if not all—killed in action. And, even if any of us survive, we can’t return to Earth Two, not unless we annihilate the enemy completely, leaving nothing to follow us back.
No, I know you will never see these words, that I will never hear your voice again, so I simply sit here in the calm quiet, knowing you are there. We did share so many things once, and now they are a part of me. You are part of me. This war, our deadly enemy, could take you away, but it could never take from me what you’ve given m
e, the part of me that will always include something of you.
Goodbye, Nicki. I know that this will likely never reach Earth Two, and even if it does, you cannot read it…but I am confident you already know all I have said here. I am ready for whatever fate is waiting for me here, and though there is the deepest sorrow in the place you should fill in my life, I am profoundly grateful for the years we had together, however few they may have been.
Flag Bridge, E2S Garret
F-76 System
Earth Two Date 02.26.43
“Scanner report?” West snapped out the order, her tone sharper than she’d intended, especially toward Avery Sampson. Her aide had listened to every aspect of the wild and desperate plan behind the fleet’s actions…and then she hadn’t said another word about it. But, she’d been on duty almost non-stop since, refusing to leave the admiral’s side almost to the point of mutiny.
“The enemy picket ships are definitely moving closer, Admiral. It’s pretty clear they aren’t even making a token effort to hide their presence anymore.”
That made some sense to West. She couldn’t imagine a First Imperium Fleet Intelligence would assume that none of her scouts or drones or probes had picked up the massive force following her ships.
She’d also expected the machine’s patience to wear out eventually, for its great processing cells to give up and realize that, whatever had driven her to pull her fleet out of G48 and make a run for it, it wasn’t a blind enough panic for her to lead it back to Earth Two.
That was fine…the enemy didn’t really need to believe she was heading back to Earth Two. But, what she did need was time, just a bit more now. The hope that she would lead the enemy to Earth Two, whatever probability the Intelligence had assigned to it, had been enough to buy her the respite she needed…most of it. West wasn’t just running…she was heading somewhere.