Crimson Worlds Collection I

by Jay Allan

  “Major General Gilson.”

  Gilson, she thought. Commander of 1st Division. Erik’s immediate superior. “Give me a status report.” Then, when he didn’t answer in an instant: “Now!”

  “Yes Major.” She’d flustered him a bit, and he was trying to regain his focus. “She was hit in the chest and the left leg. She was very fortunate with the chest wound; it shattered two ribs, but didn’t cause any other major damage.” He motioned for her to walk around the corner toward one of the triage areas. “The leg wound is worse. It hit the artery, but her suit stopped the bleeding. Still, there is massive damage. Dr. Hollis isn’t sure if we can save the leg or should just amputate and regenerate.”

  She was about to respond when they turned another corner and she saw the general laying on a table trying to sit up. Sarah ran the rest of the way and put her hands on Gilson’s shoulders. “General, please lie down. You won’t help anything if you rip open the dressings and bleed to death.” She slid around so Gilson could see her. “I’m Doctor Linden, sir. Chief of Medical Services. We’re going to take good care of you.”

  “I remember you, major.” Gilson’s voice was strong and commanding, but she was clearly struggling with the pain. “As I was telling your doctor here, I need you to patch me up as quickly as possible so I can get back into the field.”

  The rest of the staff looked shocked that this badly wounded woman was talking about going back to the battle, but Sarah had seen this type of personality before. In fact, when war and other circumstances allowed, she lived with one of them. Truth be told, if she would have admitted it to herself, she was one of them too.

  “General, I understand that you do not wish to be away from your troops, but you are seriously wounded and…”

  Gilson cut her off. “Major I am perfectly aware that I am wounded.” She shifted to face Sarah more directly, wincing in spite of her best efforts to suppress it. “But I have to get back, regardless of my condition. Even if I am dragged around in a cart.” She took another breath, gritting her teeth against the pain of her broken ribs. “General Slavin is dead.”

  That puts Erik in command of the division, Sarah thought. He must be overwhelmed. “Colonel Cain is next in the chain of command, isn’t he? I’m sure he will take care of your people.”

  “1st Brigade is cut off and surrounded. The enemy is throwing two divisions at them. They’re com is being jammed, and the enemy have hit them with a nuclear barrage. That plateau is a nightmare. I don’t even know if Colonel Cain is still alive or how many of his people are still standing.”

  Sarah willed herself to stand there, but her legs got weak, and her mind was reeling. She felt the breath sucked from her lungs as she listened to Gilson’s words, and she couldn’t force anything intelligible out of her mouth.

  “Cain’s people are breaking up the entire enemy attack, forcing them divert more and more force to assault his position. I was leading an attempt to reestablish contact with him, but I got hit by a mortar round. My aide was killed, but I got lucky. We need to break through to 1st Brigade before they’re wiped out. I don’t even know the status of the attack right now.”

  Sarah had to fight back the urge to help the general get up and back to the battle. Anything that would help break through and rescue Erik and his people. But it was just an irrational impulse that she quickly suppressed. Gilson would end up bleeding to death if she tried to do too much more than stay where she was.

  “I’m sure General Holm will see that 1st Division is ably led.” Sarah had regained her focus, but her voice was tentative. “I’m afraid it is impossible for you to return to the battle, but I can arrange a comlink to the general so you can make sure the division is in good hands.” Sarah turned and yelled to one of her assistants. “I need a secure comlink to General Holm over here. Now!” She couldn’t get Gilson back to the front, but she could do her best to make sure the drive toward 1st Brigade was not interrupted.

  A technician brought over a small com unit. Sarah put the headset on and spoke softly into the microphone. “Major Linden requesting immediate communication with General Holm.”

  “General Holm is actively directing combat operations, major.” The voice was harried, tired. “This is Colonel Clark. Can I assist you? Is there a problem at the med facility?”

  “Colonel, I have General Gilson here, seriously wounded.” Sarah’s voice was polite, but insistent. “She is very concerned about the status of 1st Division since she was hit.”

  “I’m glad to hear she is there, Major.” Clark sounded relieved. “The general has had her people searching everywhere for her. We’ve had her listed as MIA.”

  “Are you able to give her a status update on her division.” Sarah paused. “It would help us here. I need to get her settled down so I can treat her.”

  “Yes, Major Linden, I am certain I can give the general a satisfac…” His voice grew faint; he was speaking to someone away from the microphone. Sarah could barely hear him saying, “Yes, sir,” when there was a rustling sound in her headset, and a new speaker came on.”

  “Sarah? How are you holding up over there?” It was Holm. His voice was hoarse from overuse, and he sounded exhausted.

  “We’re keeping it together, sir.” She took a quick breath. “Sir, General Gilson is very concerned about 1st Division’s operation to rescue 1st Brigade. She’s wounded, but she’ll be fine if she lets me treat her and stops trying to break out of here.”

  “Everything is fine with 1st Division, Sarah. I’ll tell her myself, but first I want to tell you. Her attack hit the enemy forces assaulting 1st Brigade hard, forcing the enemy to divert more troops to the sector. It’s opened up a gap in their lines. I’m about to lead the British division myself straight through, then around to relieve 1st Brigade.” He paused, taking a short breath. “I’ll get him out of there, Sarah. Things are bad where he is - I won’t lie to you, but we both know he’s a survivor. And there’s no way I’m abandoning him. No way.”

  Sarah felt the tears welling up again, and she struggled to force them back, with only partial success. “Thank you, sir. I know you won’t.”

  “Now try to focus on your job. Getting Erik and his people off that plateau is mine.” He took another breath, deeper this time. “Now put General Gilson on, and I will assure her that her people are in good hands.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you again, general.” She pulled the headset off, twisting it to extricate a clump of her long hair that had gotten stuck. “General Gilson, General Holm wants to speak with you.” She helped Gilson get the headset on, then she walked slowly away.

  “Please, general,” she whispered softly under her breath, sniffling and brushing away a tear. “Please bring him back to me.”

  Chapter 20

  Alliance-PRC Combined Fleet

  Epsilon Eridani System

  Approaching the orbit of Epsilon Eridani V

  The enemy fleet had accelerated cautiously, far more slowly than Compton had expected. He’d delayed implementing the fleet deployment order then he had to modify it twice. He had no intention of letting the enemy pull him too far from planet four.

  He was outnumbered. He’d known that much since Johan’s scoutships had flashed back their initial readings on the hostile fleet that had been hiding in the empty vastness of the outer system. Then things got worse, though that didn’t surprise him; things usually got worse in situations like this. More enemy squadrons fired their thrusters, joining those already detected as they moved ponderously into battle formation. His four battlegroups faced eight, which meant he was in serious trouble.

  He’d match his ships one for one against any task force in the CAC navy, and more so against the less experienced Imperial and Europan crews. But two to one was a different story. Skill, experience, and tactics were paramount in an even battle, but all space combat was at least somewhat attritional in nature, and there was an inescapable mathematics that took over when one side had twice the hulls, twice the weaponry.

&
nbsp; The Alliance forces had been outnumbered at Gliese 250, but not as badly as they were here. And at Gliese they’d had minefields and the massive space station bolstering the defense, advantages they lacked in Epsilon Eridani. They’d had one other weapon at Gliese…Fleet Admiral Augustus Garret. Compton was a gifted tactician and an experienced veteran. But he knew he couldn’t fill Garret’s shoes; no one could. Garret had been the greatest genius ever to lead a battlefleet in space. He was irreplaceable.

  The enemy’s slow advance had at least allowed Captain Johan’s squadron to make good its escape. They’d been moving almost directly toward the enemy fleet when they detected it. They braked full, but even at 18g deceleration it took them some time to significantly change their vector. If the enemy had accelerated more aggressively, Johan’s people would have been caught in missile range of the enemy, which means they would have died. Now they were blasting off in a seemingly random direction, their vector taking them clear of the massive enemy fleet.

  But that course was not random at all. Compton had flashed orders to Johan, relayed by laser communication through Cambrai. They were to flee, moving at maximum velocity until they cleared detection range of the enemy fleet. Then they were to loop around behind and scout the outer system more intensively. They fooled me once, Compton thought grimly. Never again. If there is anything else out there, we’re going to find it.

  “Commander Simmons, all bomber crews are to man their ships.” Compton spoke the command matter-of-factly, but the order was an unexpected one.

  “Sir? You want the bombers launching now?” Simmons usual composure momentarily failed. The admiral’s order was unorthodox and unexpected.

  “I am not accustomed to repeating orders, commander.” It was a reprimand, but not a severe one. Simmons was an excellent officer. Besides, he thought, I surprised the hell out of him with that order.

  “Yes, Admiral Compton.” Simmons switched to the fleetcom. “All ships are to bring bomber squadrons to full alert. Report launch readiness.” Simmons could not figure out what Compton intended. The fleet was moving slowly, and the launch platforms wouldn’t impart much intrinsic velocity to the bombers. And they were still way too far from the enemy to launch a strike.

  “Joker, transmit operational order Straight Flush to Commander Simmons’ board. Encryption code Mustang.” Compton had prepared the orders himself. No one else in the fleet, except of course Joker, knew the contents.

  “Orders transmitted, admiral.”

  “Commander, the orders Joker just sent to you are to be relayed to the bomber squadrons once they are ready to launch. The coding program will decrypt the orders once the squadrons are away.” Compton knew he was taking a big chance, but he had to gamble if he was going to have any chance to win this fight. But he didn’t need his crews worrying about it – and he didn’t want to take a security risk if there were CAC or Imperial spies onboard.

  “Yes, sir.” Simmons was silent for a few seconds as his hands moved over his boards. “Orders downloaded to all squadrons, sir.” He snapped his report sharply, subconsciously compensating for his earlier unintentional insubordination.

  “Very well.” Compton acknowledged, just as crisply. He was going to launch his bomber wings in twenty minutes. The plan was unconventional to say the least, but it might give him an edge. You’d be proud of me, Augustus, he thought. This is right out of your playbook. I hope you’re with me, old friend. I need you now more than ever.

  Twenty-seven lightyears from Compton’s flagship, a small vessel accelerated toward a warp gate. Twenty-seven lightyears is an almost unimaginable distance by conventional reckoning, though of course such distances had become largely irrelevant since the discovery of warp gates.

  The ship was scorched and pockmarked with battle damage, but it was basically intact. Inside, Jennifer Simon sat in the pilot’s acceleration couch, flying the ship with considerable help from the AI. Simon was a communications officer, not a pilot. But right now she needed to be a pilot.

  Her arm throbbed. She knew it was broken – in two places, she thought. She’d wrapped it the best she could, but there was nothing else for her to do now. The small ship only had one med unit, and that was occupied.

  She locked in the final course through the gate, and the AI cut the acceleration down to just over 0.5g. Simon let out a deep breath; the ship had been thrusting at 3g, and the lower pressure was a relief on her arm. She unhooked herself from the couch and walked slowly back toward the med unit to check on her patient.

  God, I look like hell, she thought, as she caught her reflection in the mirrored surface of the metal door. The burns on her face had begun to heal; at least the pain had subsided considerably, though she thought she was still likely to frighten small children…at least until she could get some proper reconstructive surgery. She’d gotten a pretty good dose of radiation, but she’d taken the injections to counteract the worst of it. She wasn’t vomiting anymore, at least, though she was still weak.

  She walked back to the enclosed med unit and looked down through the protective glass at the unconscious figure. “Status report.”

  The medical AI’s voice was female, its tone soft and soothing. “Admiral Garret remains in a coma, though his body has responded well to treatment for his other injuries. His head trauma has also been treated, however I continue to recommend that no effort be made to awaken him from his coma until he is in a full medical facility. My ability to treat potential complications is severely limited.”

  Simon stood, silent for a moment, staring down at Garret’s peaceful face. I can’t believe we’ve made it this far, she thought. She turned slowly, willing away the fatigue, and walked back to the pilot’s station to get ready for the transit. Once through the gate they should be able to contact some Alliance vessel or outpost.

  She owed her life to Captain Charles. It had been his will and his unrelenting determination to save the admiral that had gotten them through the maelstrom of the dying Cromwell and on to Garret’s cutter. The admiral had refused to abandon the ship, and Simon had served him long enough to know that changing his mind was an impossibility. But then the ship took a hit and Garret was knocked unconscious by falling structural debris. That injury saved the admiral’s life.

  Charles stormed onto the flag bridge with four of his Marines and ordered them to take Garret to his cutter. He told Simon and the rest of the admiral’s staff to go as well, but halfway to the bay the ship took another hit, breaching the rear section of the compartment. A blast door slammed shut behind Simon, and on the other side, trapped in the stricken compartment, the rest of the staff died, blown out into space and bathed with lethal radiation.

  Simon was hurt too, but she could still walk. She followed the Marines to the cutter bay and got Garret into the med unit. She called to the Marines to stay, but they refused to abandon Cromwell while Captain Charles was still aboard. She was still arguing with them when they shut the hatch, leaving her alone in the small craft with the admiral.

  The ship lurched hard, slamming her into the bulkhead as the cutter cleared the debris strewn launch bay and blasted free of Cromwell. She landed on her already broken arm and shrieked with pain. Captain Charles had triggered the automatic launch sequence remotely. She just barely managed crawl to the command chair and engage the viewscreen in time to see Cromwell vaporized by a spread of thermonuclear explosions. The cutter was buffeted by the shockwaves, and it hull was burned and blackened, but it was already clear of the lethal zone.

  She’d had a hard time reconciling with the loss. Captain Charles, Commander Barton, the rest of the staff…all gone. But there had been no time to mourn, and no room for the self-indulgence of grief. There was only one thing that was important…saving the life of Fleet Admiral Augustus Garret.

  The cutter had the same intrinsic velocity Cromwell did, and the battleship had been moving quickly, fleeing toward the exit warp gate. Simon knew that if she’d applied any thrust now the enemy might detect the small craft.
In fact, since it was apparent that this entire attack was nothing more than a massive assassination attempt, it was likely they’d be on the lookout for any escaping vessels or lifeboats. So she ordered the AI to run silent, and the cutter zipped past the warp gate and into the outer reaches of the system.

  Once they’d cleared detection range, Simon ordered the ship’s AI to begin decelerating, though with both Garret and her both wounded, they could only tolerate limited pressure. She’d instructed the AI to keep maximum thrust to 3g, which significantly slowed their vector change. Finally, after days of maneuver they were positioned back at the warp gate and ready to transit.

  She leaned back in the couch and closed her eyes as the ship slid into the transit horizon of the gate and out into the TZ Arietis system. One step closer.

  Lieutenant Commander Peter Wheaton sat in the command seat of his fighter-bomber, methodically running through the pre-launch systems diagnostic with the craft’s AI. Bombers didn’t have official names like warships did, but it was customary for the crews to assign one anyway. Wheaton called his Darkwind, after the main character from a book he’d loved as a child. Since he’d never bothered to name the ship’s AI, it went by the same designation.

  “All systems are cleared for launch, Commander Wheaton.” The computer had a human-sounding voice, but it spoke very evenly, with no emotion – imitated or otherwise. The naval AIs lacked the personality development algorithms of the Marine versions. “All units reporting fully operational status.”

  Wheaton was the commander of bomber squadron 3. His six craft were ready to launch, though he had no idea why they were going so early. He hadn’t expected the order for 18 hours or so, and he was shocked when the klaxon sounded. At first he assumed some hidden enemy force had surprised the fleet, but it quickly became clear that wasn’t the case at all. He’d just have to wait and see what the admiral was planning. His crews had been debating the orders, and he’d told them all to cut the shit and focus on getting their craft ready. He had to remind himself to take his own advice; speculating on what Compton was planning was a waste of time. Terrance Compton was an extremely skilled commander, even if he wasn’t the equal of Admiral Garret. He knew what he was doing.