Crimson Worlds Collection I

by Jay Allan

  More gasps around the room. Stark paused a few seconds to allow the news to sink in. "While our forces were able to defeat the CAC fleet, they suffered considerable damage. The entire fleet has been ordered back to 12 Ophiuchi for repairs. I'm afraid it will be six months before we can mount a counter-invasion to retake Carson's World." His voice was somber, verging on defeated. "I trust you all know what this means?"

  The reactions ranged from stunned silence to shocked nods of acknowledgement. Finally, Number 10 spoke, her voice high-pitched with stress. "Perhaps we can assemble another force? What about the units still at Gliese 250?"

  Stark looked at her. He could see the desperate grasping for a solution in her expression. "I'm afraid not, Number Ten." He panned his glance around the table as he spoke. "We stripped everything bare to assemble the Gliese force in the first place. The units remaining there are all undergoing substantial repairs; few, if any, of them are capable of mounting an offensive. At least not for six months." He exhaled hard then continued. "With the effective loss of operational status for both Admiral Garret's fleet and our rescue force, I'm afraid we have few ships available for anything at this time."

  "What about the new construction program?" Number Nine was generally very quiet at these meetings, focusing primarily on her internal security portfolio. Her job was keeping the Cogs and the terrified middle class in line, not plotting war strategy. "This isn't my area of coverage, of course, but we've had reports that work has accelerated and is ahead of schedule. Any possibility of getting these ships online early?"

  Very good, Stark thought. She's smarter than I thought. I wonder if that is a good thing or something I will have to deal with later. "Number Nine, I had the same thought, however it appears that there are substantial issues yet to be addressed." Think, Stark, think. Give a good answer. "There has been some rapid progress made on overall structural work, however they apparently had to redesign several of the internal systems. It seems that the missile launchers have a design flaw, which causes an unacceptable failure rate during high velocity launches." That sounds good, he thought. "The latest word is that we'll be lucky to hit the original schedule, but early deployment is out of the question."

  She nodded glumly. Good, he thought. She bought it. He looked around the table. They all bought it. "Since there is no point in crying over what we cannot change, let's move on to what we can do." He moved his hands to the 'pad lying on the table in front of him. "I am going to securely transmit the proposed orders being sent to Fleetcom. You can all review this, but essentially, we will be deploying packs of fast attack ships to prevent the CAC from shipping anything from Epsilon Eridani. They've only got one exit warp gate, and we're going to mine the other side and cover it with hunter-killer groups."

  He looked up from the 'pad. "We cannot allow the enemy to ship anything from our operation on Carson's World. This is an all-costs directive. If they have taken Number Six's operation intact or close to it, they are probably less than three months from beginning shipments. We must not allow this. We cannot allow them to get past the blockade, but if they mount a strong enough operation we're going to have a hard time stopping them." He paused for a long moment. "If they do get anything through we cannot lose contact with them. We must recover the cargo at all costs. All costs. Even if that means attacking them in the Alpha Centauri or Sol systems."

  The room burst into a cacophony. "But that would violate the Treaty of Paris!" Number Ten had managed to yell louder than the others, but they were all saying the same thing.

  Stark leaned back in his chair. "I am aware of that." His spoke slowly and deliberately. "But nothing is more important than preventing the CAC from shipping the cargo in question to Earth or one of their core worlds. Allies or not, Li An will never trust the Caliphate with this. So there are only a few places they can go, and Earth is the closest and most direct. I suggest you all utilize every intelligence asset you have to insure things do not come to this pass. We must have better intel from inside CAC C1. That bitch managed to get a leg up on us, but she isn't going to win this." His voice was grim, dark. "We are going to do whatever it takes."

  He panned his head slowly around the table, staring briefly at each of the Directors, all of whom sat in stunned silence. "Very well," he finally said. "I suggest we adjourn so that all of you can consider any options for improving our flow of information. Leave no stone unturned." He leaned back in his chair. "That will be all." Then, after a brief pause, "Number Two, please remain. Number Four, please stay online as well; I want to discuss the training programs with you briefly."

  "Yes, Number One." The hologram nodded as the others rose and started toward the door.

  Stark sat quietly until the door slid shut. "I suspect our friend is on his way to contact Li An even now." His glum expression gave way to a wicked grin. "Do you think he took the bait?"

  Number Two laughed. He'd enjoyed Stark's performance. "Yes, I think he bought it. I watched him through the entire meeting. The first time I'd ever considered sitting opposite him to be a good thing." He smiled. "How long have you know that Carillon was working for Li An?"

  "To tell you the truth, it was our sweet, sexy little Alex who first suspected." His smile gave way to a look of concern. "If she ends up dead on Carson's World I'm going to miss her. I don't know where I will find another one quite like her."

  "No, Alex Linden is one of a kind." Dutton let out a little snort. "Even if she is after my job. Maybe one day I will even accommodate her and retire. Or die. I doubt she cares which."

  Stark snickered. "My friend, I'm not sure you are capable of either. Imagining you retired is amusing; what would you do, play golf? And you are too mean to die." The two of them laughed again then Stark turned to the hologram. "Number Four, have the orders been issued as we discussed?"

  The laser-generated image was almost perfect, and a casual observer might think it was a human being in the chair, though there was still an occasional flicker when it moved abruptly. "Yes, Number One. As you know, other than Cromwell, our fleet units in the recent battle received only light damage. The enemy apparently targeted almost all of their fire on the admiral's flagship. The combined force is en route to Columbia and will be 100% combat-ready as soon as it resupplies there."

  The hologram's arms moved - on the other end, General Samuels was punching up numbers on his 'pad, and the computer was transmitting his motions to the image. "General Holm has been ordered to prepare his forces to embark immediately."

  "Excellent." Stark smiled. "I can also add that our four new Yorktown class ships are, in fact, ready to launch." He laughed sarcastically. "The missile launcher problem was miraculously solved in the last ten minutes."

  Dutton chuckled softly, and the hologram wiggled oddly and made a strange sound - the system did not reproduce laughter well.

  Stark pushed his chair from the table and leaned backward. "Hopefully we have just sent Li An some misinformation. The miserable old bitch put one over on us when she grabbed Carson's World." His face hardened in anger. "But she isn't going to keep it, and she isn't going to get so much as one shipment off of there. I don't know how she scraped up the forces she did, but it must have been just about every available unit in CAC space. When we destroy them…that is going to be the end of the war. The Caliphate is prostrate after Gliese, and we've cut off 80% of their vital resources. When we finish off the CAC fleet and ground forces, we will be the dominant power in space. We will dictate the peace terms."

  The three of them sat silently and smiled. "And then we will deal with these colonists and teach them the new order of things out there." His expression was almost feral.

  Chapter 12

  I Corps HQ

  Columbia - Eta Cassiopeiae II

  The great plain between I Corps bivouac area and the city of Weston was covered with ground-to-orbit shuttles. The corps was loading up, preparing for its journey to Epsilon Eridani, and everywhere there were armored Marines marching up ramps and into the bellie
s of neatly aligned shuttlecraft.

  Along the western edge of the assembly area, a neat row of larger ships awaited their cargo. I Corps had a tank battalion, and the massively armed and armored monsters tore up the grassy meadow and threw huge clods of dirt behind them as they rumbled toward the waiting transports.

  There were palettes of supplies too, being moved on large open trucks, though most of the logistical items were already onboard the orbiting troopships and transport vessels, having been shipped in from other Alliance bases.

  Colonel Erik Cain stood in the quad outside the almost-deserted former home of 1st Brigade, watching shuttles ascending, carrying the troops under his command to their waiting ships. He was wearing his armor, but his visor was open. It was a beautiful autumn day on Columbia, and Erik wanted to enjoy a last few minutes of fresh air before the weeks of recycled atmosphere he faced during the trip to Epsilon Eridani. Plus, he'd managed to convince Captain Warren he should embark early and help get the troops settled, so he'd shaken his unwelcome shadow for a few hours. He intended to enjoy the relative solitude.

  "Colonel Cain, the 2nd Battalion of the 1st Regiment has completed loading and is awaiting clearance for liftoff. With their departure, all 1st Brigade personnel will have embarked except for the special action battalion." Hector was the name Cain had given the artificial intelligence unit downloaded into his armor. Designed as a virtual assistant, Hector could perform anything from simple tasks, such as saving Cain the trouble of hitting a button to bring up a display, to complex operations, like tracking the incoming data on every trooper in the brigade. "You may want to consider cutting short your contemplative activities and begin to move toward the embarkation area. You wouldn't want to miss your shuttle." The Marine AIs were designed with distinct and developable personalities as a way of enhancing interactivity and reducing stress on officers in the field. Hector, however, was a bit of a nag.

  "Shut up, Hector," Cain snapped. "I am perfectly aware of the departure schedules, and I don't need some smartass computer reminding me every five minutes."

  "I reminded you one time, Colonel, which is consistent with my purpose." Hector's temperament was always moderate and relaxed-sounding, even when he (it?) was being a pain in the ass. It really pissed Cain off sometimes. "I understand your human need for exaggeration when attempting to make a point, however."

  Cain was going to respond, but he'd long ago decided it was a losing fight. He'd been ready to start walking over toward the shuttle, but now he found himself waiting another ten minutes just to make his point. It didn't make him proud to stand there just to spite his computer, but he did it anyway.

  He was anxious to be heading back to battle. Cain was no glory hound, seeking combat for its own sake. He'd seen too much fighting, too much death to think of war as anything but a horror. But he'd come to learn that some things were worth fighting for, worth the terror and suffering and bloodshed. The worlds out here on the frontier, so different from the decadent and authoritarian society on Earth, represented to him the best in man...the hope for a better tomorrow, for a fit place to live and grow old. For that - for the brave colonists who dared to build a new civilization among the stars - he would brave the death and hardship of war.

  He wasn't happy about the mission, however. Operation Sherman had been a campaign designed to liberate the occupied colony worlds, mostly lost during the difficult early years of the war. To Erik, and to General Holm and the rest of the Marines, this was a sacred task, and it had been a bitter blow when they were compelled to suspend the campaign halfway through. The months in Columbia spent waiting for the resumption of the operation were put to good use training and integrating replacement troops, but after almost a year of inactivity, Cain and his brethren were ready to get back to the task of freeing their people.

  But now they were being sent to Epsilon Eridani, a relatively unimportant system that wasn't even populated anymore. The three worlds remaining in Operation Sherman were home to over 2,000,000 people, and Cain could not understand why a deserted mining planet was more important than them. It gnawed at his gut that whatever resource Carson's World had - there was obviously something of value there - the high command thought it was more important than the colonists waiting for liberation. Nevertheless, the sooner they got back to the war in any capacity, the sooner it would end.

  He decided he'd stayed put long enough to spite Hector, so he began walking down toward the shuttles. He could have called for a ride, but he wanted to walk and enjoy just a few more minutes of relative peace and quiet. Erik enjoyed time alone, even if he did spend a significant portion of it wrestling with the guilt he felt for all the men and women who had died under his command. That group of ghosts had another member, though mercifully for once it wasn't one that Cain had led to death. Erik still couldn't believe that Admiral Garret was gone. He hadn't known him well, but the admiral had been one of the great heroes of the war. He and General Holm had directed the stunning resurgence of the Alliance, and the loss was almost too painful to bear. Augustus Garret had deserved a better end.

  "Colonel Cain?" It was Anne Delacorte's voice on the comlink. Captain Delacorte was Cain's orderly, and she'd proven to be a tremendous asset. Smart and resourceful, she'd also turned out to be a first-class scrounger...an informal skill greatly valued in any military organization. Erik had personally arranged her promotion to captain when they’d returned to Columbia from Operation Sherman.

  "Yes, Anne. What is it?"

  "Sir, the special action teams are all embarked and we have received launch clearance." Her voice was cheerful, but fatigued. Getting 3,600 troops loaded onto shuttles and into orbit was a significant task. It had been a stressful day all around. "General Holm has requested that you ride up with him, sir. Do you want us to lift, or should we wait for you?"

  "No, you might as well get going." He changed his direction - General Holm's shuttle was on the other side of the field, a couple klicks beyond where his own people were loaded up. "When you dock, tell Colonel Jax I don't know how long I will be, and he should make sure the brigade is settled in."

  "Yes, sir." She paused. "What should I tell Captain Warren, sir?" Her voice sounded like she'd bitten into something sour.

  "Tell him I finally cracked and spaced myself."

  "Yes, sir." She tried to stifle a laugh. "Perhaps I will edit that just a bit. With your permission, of course."

  "Whatever you think best, Captain." He enjoyed teasing her a little. "I trust your judgment." He smiled, at least as much as he ever did when discussing his political officer.

  "Yes, sir. Have a good trip up, sir."

  "Thanks, Anne. You too. Cain out."

  Ok, he thought, Jax is handling the troops, and Anne is babysitting my babysitter. He let himself relax ever so slightly; there was nothing requiring his immediate attention, so he resolved to enjoy the walk over to the general's embarkation area.

  “Well isn’t this plush?” Cain walked up the gleaming metal ramp into General Holm’s shuttle. A variation on one of the larger craft used to ferry armored vehicles to and from the surface, it was a mobile command center sporting twenty workstations, allowing the general’s staff be fully functional even when landing or launching into orbit.

  Holm was leaning over the shoulder of one of his aides, staring at figures on a screen. He turned and smiled when he heard Cain’s voice. “Only the best.” He motioned to the workstations. “I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that keeping a corps-sized operation functioning takes altogether too much work.”

  Cain laughed and stood bolt upright, snapping a reasonably decent salute at the general, at least the closest facsimile of one that could be managed in armor. “I can’t even imagine, sir. The brigade is more than enough work by itself.”

  Holm returned the salute with a smile. “Not bad, Erik. You’re getting pretty decent at that.”

  “Well, you’ve promoted me so many times I feel compelled to salute myself every morning in the mirror.” He g
rinned. “Practice makes perfect.”

  Holm laughed and moved toward Cain, extending his gloved hand. Powered armor gloves were made from an artificial thermoplastic material reinforced with fine iridium cable mesh. The result was highly damage-resistant, while still allowing for considerable range of movement. A trained Marine has a surprising amount of tactile dexterity, allowing him utilize his weapons, operate a range of controls and equipment, and even shake hands. “Let’s not jump right to perfect, Erik. I said decent.” He laughed as Cain took his hand and they shook. “But at least I won’t have to cover for you when we have visiting officers.”

  Holm motioned deeper in the shuttle. “Let’s get bolted in. We’re launching in five minutes.” They walked into the ship, through a hatch that led to the general’s private office. There was a desk with the chair retracted and a locking bolt extended to receive the general’s armor. There were three brackets along the side wall, and Cain walked over and backed into one.

  “Very nice.” You don’t even need to leave your office to get locked down for takeoff. He leaned back. “Hector, bolt us in.” The AI didn’t reply, but Erik felt himself pulled up to the wall as his armor locked into place.

  Holm was going through the same motions. “Saves time. I land in this thing too, don’t forget. It’s usually a little more hectic then.”

  “Liftoff in two minutes.” The shipwide com interrupted their exchange. “All personnel switch to internal life support systems.” Standard procedure. Everyone was supposed to be on their suit’s air and temperature control. That way, if the ship took damage and lost its atmospheric integrity, the occupants would all be protected. It made a lot of sense during an assault; it was less necessary on an unopposed liftoff, where a catastrophic failure was far less likely. But there was no reason not to take the extra precaution.

  Cain told Hector to close the visor and activate the internal support systems. He could see that the general was doing the same. He was just about to toggle the comlink on to continue speaking to Holm when his laser-link communicator received a tight beam and Hector piped the incoming message into his headset.