Crimson Worlds Collection I

by Jay Allan

  Marek lay pinned under a pile of smashed rock. He was wounded, badly he thought hazily, though there was no pain. That much he owed to the suit, to the cocktail of drugs it had injected into his battered body. His reactor had shut down, and his heavily damaged armor was operating on battery power. He couldn't move, though whether that was due to his injuries or simply the loss of reactor power he didn't know. His vision was blurry; he could feel himself slipping further away, into unconsciousness. He thought he heard a voice calling to him, but it was faint and far away...and then it was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Alliance-PRC Combined Fleet

  Epsilon Eridani System

  Deployed around Epsilon Eridani IV

  "Admiral Compton!" Commander Simmons' voice was uncharacteristically high pitched. "I am receiving a laser transmission relay from Cambrai. Priority Alpha One." That was Alliance code for an extreme emergency. "Coming through now, sir." He paused while the computer decrypted and fed him the message. "Admiral, Captain Arlington is reporting that Captain Johan's attack ships have detected large enemy forces in the outer system."

  Compton sat in his command chair, outwardly calm though he could feel his stomach clench. "Relay me any information immediately as it comes in." After a short pause: "Put the fleet on yellow alert."

  "Yes, sir. Fleet alert status yellow." Simmons looked down at his board. "New transmission, sir. Captain Johan has identified at least six battlegroups." He hesitated, staring at the screen. "Enemy formation includes Imperial South American and Europan units, sir." He turned his head and looked at the admiral, a shocked expression on his face. Most of the rest of the flag bridge crew were doing the same. The compartment was almost silent.

  Compton wasn't all that surprised at the South Americans. Not really. It was no secret they were coming into the war. Alliance Intelligence had assured him the empire wouldn't be ready to mount any offensive operations for several months, but they'd screwed up before. They'd lied before too. But Europa Federalis was a shock. The CAC had two new allies? Both with forces already deployed? His thoughts were grim...this was not good. Not good at all.

  Simmons looked back to his screen. "Sir, Captain Johan reports that the enemy was sitting dark in the outer system, beyond the orbit of planet seven." The seventh planet was the system's outermost; beyond that there was a relatively dense belt of sub-planetary objects - perfect for hiding a fleet. "She detected them when they fired their thrusters." Another pause. "Their present plotting suggests they are now moving to intercept us."

  "Commander, order Captain Arlington to make a course back to the fleet at once." Cambrai had been detached to support Johan's squadron, but Compton was outnumbered enough without leaving a battleship exposed to being picked off. "I want a conference with the battlegroup commanders in twenty minutes." Arlington would still be too far out to participate in real time, but he'd catch up with her later. "Joker?"

  "Yes, Admiral Compton?"

  "Please put together a proposed thrust plan to intercept the projected enemy course at..." He slid his fingers along the touchscreen, scrolling through the map of local space as he did. "Here." He'd stopped right at the orbit of planet five, which was on the same side of the primary as Carson's World, not too distant from where he proposed to meet the enemy. He didn't want to get too far away from Carson's World, but he wanted some velocity too. Plus, there was an asteroid belt just beyond planet five, and he thought he might find that useful tactically, especially if he got the worst of the initial exchange.

  "Yes, Admiral Compton. Working now. I will have proposed thrust instructions for all ships in approximately three minutes."

  "Commander Simmons, get me a link to General Holm. I've got to warn the ground forces."

  "Yes, sir." His hands danced over the control boards. A few seconds later he looked up. "Sir, General Holm is in the field. His aide is trying to reach him now." The Marine comlinks could transmit to ships in orbit, but Saratoga was 400,000 kilometers out, just beyond the planet's second moon. Holm would have to use the communications setup in his HQ to reach Compton.

  "Sir, Captain Arlington confirms receipt of your orders, sir." Simmons paused, still listening to his earpiece. He looked back at Compton. "She requests permission to remain on station until Captain Johan's ships are able to reverse course and build velocity back toward the fleet."

  "Denied." Compton didn't like deserting the scouts either, but he simply could not risk one of his capital ships. "Tell her to get back here as quickly as possible." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid we may have to ask a great deal from Captain Johan and her people before this engagement is decided. But difficult choices are the province of war."

  "Joker, where's that thrust plan?" Compton could feel the adrenalin. He hoped it would last, because he wasn't going to get much sleep for the next week or so.

  "Downloading now, Admiral Compton." The AI's voice was calm and unflappable. "Projected time for the fleet to adopt the target formation, six hours, eighteen minutes."

  "Estimated time to enemy fleet arrival?" Compton knew he was asking the computer for a wild guess.

  "Too many variables to create a meaningful estimate. Based on maximum documented thrust potential for known vessels, the minimum time is two days, three hours, and twenty minutes. However, that would require sustained full thrust with no periods for maintenance or crew recovery." No fleet could blast full for two days straight without stopping. Not if they wanted their crews functional afterwards. Not to mention the risks inherent in running their propulsion systems and reactors all out with no breaks or maintenance checks.

  "Your best guess, Joker." Compton tended toward being a little impatient, and the present circumstances did nothing to temper it.

  "Factoring known Imperial and CAC naval doctrine and my assessment of the tactical situation, a reasonable estimate would be three and one-half to four and one-half days." The quasi-sentient machine paused, obviously for effect, since it didn't need the time to think. "Any greater specificity would require almost random assignment of variables, rendering the resulting projection tactically useless." Even the straitlaced naval AIs came off as a bit obnoxious at times.

  "Sir, I have General Holm on the line."

  "Pipe it to my headset, commander." Compton closed his visor. He thought he might want some privacy with the general. "Elias?" It took about two seconds for his message to reach Carson's World, and the same for the general's reply to make it back to Saratoga. It was an annoying way to communicate, but both he and Holm were used to it.

  "Yes, Terrance...what is it?" Holm sounded tired and distracted.

  "I've got an enemy fleet up here." Right to the point.

  "I assume we wouldn't be having this discussion if it wasn't a substantial force. Am I right? Did they follow us through the warp gate? Why didn't the pickets warn you?"

  "Bigger than my fleet, to answer your first question." Compton sighed. "No, they didn't come through the gate; they were here already. Lying dark in the outer system." There was growing anger in the admiral's voice. "If those damned orders hadn't pushed us to move so quickly, I'd have never let your people transit before I'd scoured this system. I knew there was something going on. I could feel it. I wish the politicians would leave tactics to the professionals."

  "You know I agree, but we should probably stay on more productive subject matter for now." Holm sounded more disgusted than angry...and more fatigued than either. "I'm in a shitstorm down here too. I'm getting reports and requests for reinforcements from everywhere. I don't know how the enemy managed to get this big a force here, but they've got units pouring out everywhere."

  Compton swore under his breath. "This whole fucking thing has been one giant ambush. And our vaunted intelligence service not only failed to warn us, they pushed us right into the trap." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "We have to figure we're both heavily outnumbered. The enemy wouldn't have planned this if they didn't think they had the force to pull it off."

  "Agr
eed. It certainly feels like I'm outnumbered down here, though I can't seem to get a reliable count on enemy strength. We're just going to have to deal with the hands we've been dealt...both of us."

  "Our orders don't give any latitude for pulling your people out of there." Compton was speaking more or less rhetorically. He knew they didn't have enough time to upload I Corps and accelerate quickly enough to escape the enemy battlefleet, even if they'd had the authority to withdraw. Holm knew it just as well.

  "I couldn't break off now without it turning into a rout, anyway. My line runs 300 klicks east to west, and it’s under attack at every point. And one of my brigades is totally cut off." He hesitated then said, "Maybe you should think about withdrawing the fleet. Especially if the enemy has too big an edge. You could come back when the odds are more even."

  Compton snorted. "When will that be? We took everything in Gliese that wasn't streaming atmosphere or running on half-power." He paused for a second. "Besides, there's no way I'm leaving your people stranded here. Even if my orders allowed it, which you know perfectly well they don't."

  Holm let out a half-hearted laugh. "Well, thank you for that show of support, but the truth is there isn't much you can do for us down here anyway. So if getting the hell out of here is the right choice, do it. Either way, if we both live through this I'll buy you dinner. Anywhere in occupied space. Your choice." He paused, then said with a soft chuckle, "The Basilone Club at the Academy is good. I think they'll let a navy officer in." He paused again. "As long as we don't make a habit of it."

  Compton returned the laugh. "Sounds good. I suppose Marine food won't kill a navy man. As long as he doesn’t make a habit of it." After a few seconds he added, "I need to get your transport fleet out of there, though. They're sitting ducks if any warships get past me. If there's anything you need in those supply ships, we need to get it to the surface now."

  "That may be a problem." Holm let out a labored breath. "We've got a considerable fight for airspace down here. My people don't have air superiority yet. I'm not even sure they will. Anything trying to land now could take it hard."

  "Damn, this just keeps getting worse." Compton thought for a few seconds. "What do you need most?"

  "Ammunition. And medical supplies. I'd also evac some wounded and non-essential personnel if I could get them safely into orbit."

  "Ok, can you hold on for a few minutes?" Compton didn't wait for an answer; he switched off the line with Holm. He was back about three minutes later. "Ok, Elias. I spoke with Admiral Wells." Wells was the commander of the transport and supply fleet. "He's pretty sure he has enough volunteers to bring down whatever you need. His pilots know the risks they'll be running. Contact him directly - he's under instructions to follow your orders. Get whatever you need, but get it done in twelve hours, because that's all I can give you. In twelve hours and one minute, that fleet has to be thrusting out of orbit." He paused for a second. "Good enough?"

  "Good enough." Holm was distracted, already thinking of the bare minimum he needed to transport down. "I'll try to finish in eight. And, Terrance...thanks." After a brief hesitation he added, "Good luck up there."

  Compton smiled weakly. "Yeah, you too."

  Admiral Wells had said he could get volunteers, but he didn't mention they'd all be crazy sons of bitches. Holm stared in disbelief as he watched the scanners. Shuttles weren't supposed to fly like that - especially not when they were full of weapons and ammo. He'd ordered every atmospheric fighter he had left in the air to run interference for the transport craft landing the supplies. That was going to leave his troops exposed for a while, but it was better than having them run out of ammunition.

  He'd never seen shuttles descend so quickly, zigzagging wildly and diving right through the atmosphere. They were wrecking their heat shields...and condemning themselves to a one-way trip. There was no way these ships were making it back to orbit, at least not without major repair jobs. So the volunteer pilots threw in their lot with the ground forces; none of them were leaving Carson's World unless the planetside battle was won. Almost a quarter of them never even made it to the surface alive, their shuttles hit by SAMs or shot down by enemy fighters.

  Holm's biggest disappointment was the inability to get any of the wounded evacuated to the hospital ships. There was no way he could justify the risk of sending pilots or injured soldiers back up through that maelstrom, even if any of the shuttles had been fit to fly. One of the ships did bring some volunteer medical staff down to the surface to reinforce I Corps exhausted personnel. Sarah would be glad to see them; she needed every bit of help she could get, and it looked like things were just going to get worse. She'd set up a makeshift hospital in one of the mines, but low on supplies, overwhelmed with shattered men and women, and unable to evacuated any wounded, it was fast becoming a house of horrors.

  He was worried about her too. Sarah Linden was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, but when he last saw her on the com she looked like death. He doubted she'd slept in a week, and the stimulants were taking their toll. She'd looked at him with eyes sunken deep in her exhausted, blood-streaked face, her long hair tangled and sloppily tied back. He was sure he looked just as bad, but it was his command prerogative to worry about his people, not the other way around. He would have ordered her to get some sleep if he thought there was a chance she'd obey. Maybe it was better for her to stay busy; it would give her less time to worry about Erik who, as usual, had managed to find his way into the hottest spot on the field.

  The battle was raging, and both sides had gone nuclear, making the surface of the planet a very dangerous place. I Corps HQ was also located in one of the underground mines, which had been hurriedly braced and fortified. Holm ordered the supplies stored deep in several other abandoned mines, as far as possible from the reach of enemy bombardments. It was the only option he could think of that gave him a chance of keeping it secure, though it also complicated distribution and made the supply net to his front line units even more tenuous.

  They didn't quite make Holm's boast of eight hours to complete the resupply operation, but they did finish in less than ten. The supply situation still wasn't ideal, but it was a lot less dire than it had been, and that gave them a better chance to win the fight. And the transport fleet had an extra two hours to build velocity and get away before the enemy battle fleet was in range.

  Holm hated sitting underground in the headquarters watching monitors while his troops were fighting for their lives. He wanted to get up to the surface and into the front lines along with his people. But that's not what they needed from him. Doing that would make him feel better, but it would also make it more likely they'd lose this fight...which meant they would all die. He hoped a certain colonel remembered that.

  The men and women of 1st Brigade had been cut off. They held a strong position behind enemy lines, which they had seized in a daring attack, and their presence was severely disrupting the enemy advance, albeit at a terrible cost. The brigade needed their brilliant colonel alive and in command, not gloriously dead in some mud-filled trench. They were in serious danger of being totally overrun, and if anyone could pull them through the next few days, Holm knew it was Erik Cain.

  Chapter 18

  Foothills of the Tarsus Mountains

  North of the Lysandra Plateau

  Epsilon Eridani IV

  “There is definitely an identifiable energy signature.” Captain James Teller had named his AI Zack. Special action team commanders had enhanced AIs, and Teller’s had been coordinating input from the extensive scanning grid his troops had deployed. “The source is heavily shielded, but I have confirmed it from three different detectors.”

  Teller sighed. He was still skeptical. They were deep in the mountainous wasteland north and east of the formerly inhabited areas of the planet. To the southwest, the rest of 1st Brigade was fighting for its life, as the enemy poured more units into trying to drive them from their commanding position. Teller was pissed to be off chasing shadows wh
ile his brothers and sisters were struggling and dying against overwhelming numbers. But orders were orders. Colonel Cain had sent them here to look for something, and wherever Cain commanded, James Teller would go.

  Zack was silent, awaiting input from Teller. When none was forthcoming, the AI continued its report. “The signature is very faint, which suggests state of the art shielding and stealth technology.” Teller still said nothing. “I infer from your lack of communication that you remain unconvinced that there is some type of hidden facility in this area.” The AI’s voice didn’t change, at least not significantly, but it sounded almost petulant to Teller. “I assure you that my determination is reliable, whatever your initial expectations may have been.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Zack.” Teller was both amused and annoyed at his sometimes overzealous virtual assistant. “I just don’t see what the hell would be up here.” He’d never doubt Cain, but he just couldn’t figure out what his brilliant and eccentric commander was up to this time. It wasn’t like Erik Cain to let his men and women die on the battle lines while he sent badly needed strength off on wild goose chases. “Alright, Zack, put together a search grid based on your energy readings. If there’s something out here, we need to find it.”

  “Now projecting schematic of suggested search zones.” A map of the area shimmered slightly in front of Teller’s eyes. Three blue ovals marked locations the AI had denoted as high probability search targets.

  “Ok, Zack, number those three search zones and transmit to all team members.” Teller’s voice was matter-of-fact. He was still skeptical, but he was here to search, so he was going to make sure it got done right.

  “Transmitted.”

  “Sawyer and Harmon, check out zone number one.” Teller was cautious; if there was something out here he had no idea if it was defended or what they might run into, so he was keeping most of the team together and sending out two man crews to scout. “Kissock, Mallow, check out zone two. Smith, Harrison, search zone three. All of you, report anything to me. Anything at all, even a feeling.”