by Jay Allan
Sam was a veteran. If she said it was bad, it was bad. “OK, get the most urgent cases in here now.” She paused. “Sam, remember we don’t have any crit care units.” She hesitated again, not wanting to say what she had to say. “You’re going to have to segregate the hopeless cases. If we can’t save them we need to preference the ones who have a chance.”
“Sarah…” Sam’s voice was somber, troubled. “Yes, I understand.” She didn’t like it, but she knew Sarah was right. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sarah didn’t answer. As far as she was concerned, the less said about it the better. They did what they had to do. They saved as many as they could.
“Parker!” She was yelling now, looking around trying to find her assistant. “Parker, get over here!”
Parker Rand had been her assistant on Armstrong, and he’d jumped when she asked for volunteers. Rand was a rimworlder whose sympathies were firmly with the rebels. He came running over, wiping his face with a towel as he did. “Yes, Colonel Linden?”
“Parker, I need you to get that forward cave set up. Sam’s going to be moving the hopeless cases there in a few.” She motioned with her head, indicating the chamber she meant. “I want you to administer pain control meds and sedatives to the men and women there.” She knew she should be careful on the meds – they were already running low. But she was sending those men and women in there to die, and the least she would do was make sure they were as comfortable as she could make them.
“Yes, colonel.” He turned to leave.
“And Parker?”
“Yes, colonel?”
“Talk to the ones who are conscious.” God, she hated this. “Don’t let them die alone.”
“I will, colonel.” His voice was a little weak. Rand hadn’t been in the places Sarah had, and he was overwhelmed by all the death and suffering. “Don’t you worry, colonel, I’ll take care of it.” He turned and jogged off to carry out her orders.
She sighed as she struggled to close the gaping wound she’d been working on. He’ll make it, at least, she thought, looking down at the torn up rebel on the table. He didn’t look much like a soldier. “What are you, a fisherman? A tailor?” She knew she wouldn’t get an answer; she didn’t really want one.
“We’ve got to pull back to the Rock.” Anton’s voice was hoarse, and Marek could hear the pain, despite the big man’s attempts to hide it. It wasn’t a critical wound on Anton’s shoulder, but it was a painful one.
“We’re done if we get penned in there.” Marek knew Anton was right, but he was struggling, desperately trying to think of an alternative. “You know that.”
“John…we’re done if we stay on Carlisle. The lines are broken in four places.” Anton grabbed his friend’s arm. “We can hold out a while longer on the Rock. You know how deep those caverns are.” He looked back over his shoulder, in the direction of the nearest fighting. “If we stay here we’ll lose the whole army.”
Marek let out a long, slow breath. He’d been in tough spots before. The battle on the Lysandra Plateau on Carson’s World had been one of the bitterest ever fought. He was grievously wounded and sure all was lost. But General Cain held his people together, and they won the battle.
But it had been I Corps on Carson’s World…and Erik Cain’s 1st Brigade on the Lysandra Plateau. Marek was proud of his troops, but he couldn’t compare them to the elite veterans who fought that famous battle. Anton was right. The army was disintegrating.
“OK, we’ll pull back.” Marek barely managed to croak out the words. “But we’ll need a rearguard. I’ll take the militia and the veterans and we’ll set up a defense at Monty’s Gap. That should…”
“Hold on.” Anton put his good arm in the air as he interrupted. “Don’t even think about leading the rearguard. You’re the army commander. You get your ass out to the Rock and set up a command post.”
“But…”
“No buts.” Anton’s eyes bored into Marek’s. “Don’t make me be insubordinate. You’re the commander of this army and it needs you. The whole army, not just the delaying force.” Anton put his hand on Marek’s shoulder. “John, you get the army off Carlisle and onto the Rock. I’ll hook up with Colonel Jax and we’ll hold the Gap long enough for you to get everyone evac’d.”
Marek hated the plan. He hated it with a passion. But he knew it was what he had to do. “OK, let’s do it. But we’ll have to evacuate civilians too. I can’t even imagine what kind of reprisals Cooper has in mind for Carlisle.” He looked up at Anton. “And you…no crazy chances. Take care of yourself…you understand?”
Anton nodded, but he didn’t say another word.
Arlen Cooper was smiling, but the generals on the transport with him wore non-descript expressions. They were winning the battle, but the losses had been staggering. The federal forces had suffered at least 10,000 casualties, and possibly twice that. No one seemed to know for sure. Communications, logistics, command…it was all a confused mess.
Cooper stepped out of the transport, and he sank almost to his knees in the mud, swearing bitterly. He’d wanted to come out to Carlisle Island to see what was really going on, but he’d never get used to what a mess battlefields were. “Help me out of here!” He was waving his arms and trying to pull his leg out of the muck. His aides scrambled through the mud, struggling to pull him free.
“General Strom, report.” Cooper was walking toward the federal military commander, stamping his feet to shake some of the mud off his legs. He had a rough relationship with Strom, and he hoped the general wasn’t going to give him a hard time. Cooper was already annoyed, and he wasn’t in the mood to put up with any shit from Strom.
“Welcome to Carlisle Island, Governor.” Strom was in good spirits. Like Cooper, Strom wasn’t overly concerned about casualties as long as he was victorious. The army could always draft more Cogs to fill the ranks. “The rebels are broken and in wholesale flight. We are in pursuit and rounding them up even now.”
“General, it is my understanding from reports that the rebels are retreating to a fortified island off the northern coast.” Cooper detested Strom, and he was going to hold the officious pain in the ass accountable. He’d already lost an enormous number of troops, and as far as Cooper could see from the dispatches, the rebels were pulling back in good order. “I presume you are moving to cut them off and prevent this.”
“Governor, the tactical realities of the campaign are, I am sure, quite beyond…”
“General!” Cooper interrupted Strom harshly. “If you are able to trap the rebels on Carlisle Island, we can end this rebellion today.” And you and I can get off of this miserable rock, he thought. “If they are allowed to escape with a significant force intact we will have to assault them again.” He glared at Strom. The general was seething with rage, but so far he’d held his tongue. “Considering the state of our own army after your glorious…” – he drew the word out in a mocking tone – “…victory, I can only imagine how long that will take.”
Strom’s body quivered with rage. “Governor, I realize you do not understand military matters, so I will excuse your insult.”
“General Strom…” Cooper’s eyes bored right into the general’s. “I couldn’t care less what you excuse or do not excuse. You have a job to do, and I suggest you focus on cutting off the rebel retreat.”
Strom looked almost apoplectic, but before he could say anything, an aide came running over. “Governor Cooper!”
Cooper turned to face his assistant. “What is it, Jon?”
“It’s the camp, sir.” The young orderly’s voice was tentative and cracking. “There’s trouble at the camp.”
The mob streamed from the camp toward Weston, a seething, boiling throng. They’d had hundreds killed – no, thousands – but they’d done it. They’d broken out. Every guard in the camp had been killed, literally torn apart by the starving, abused prisoners. A few had tried to run, but Jill’s people chased them down. The shattered wreckage of the camp was strewn with the dead.
Jill had been determined to lead the break the week before, but she’d seen the troop columns marching north and decided to wait. If Cooper was going to move the army away, so much the better. As long as his hideous little ass was still in Weston where she could get to him.
Her group had started small, targeting collaborators and informers and executing them in the night. The word spread among the desperate and broken inhabitants of the camp. Without other hope they latched onto the cause, and soon Jill Winton had thousands of followers. They became even more violent and extremist, determined to strike back against the federals and any who helped them.
“To Weston.” Jill screamed again, though she knew only a tiny fraction of the mob could hear her. “Death to the federals.”
“Death to the federals.” A hundred people shouted the reply, pumping their fists in the air as they surged forward, and the cry rippled outward until the shouts were deafening. The streaming mass of humanity was out for blood.
“And death to all collaborators!” Jill’s eyes blazed with fury as she held her rifle aloft. As far as Jill was concerned, all who aided the federals – even those who didn’t resist them – were traitors. Now they would pay. They’d been living in Weston, their comfort the spoils of their treason. Those who resisted, whose friends and families were in the field fighting, they had suffered the horrors of the camp. Beatings, starvation, rape, exposure, torture…they had endured every imaginable abuse. Now they would have their vengeance.
“To Weston!” she cried again, and the madness in her voice only inspired the mob more.
“Go, colonel.” Anton stood dead center in the rocky pass, holding an assault rifle in each arm. His shoulder was slick with blood, but he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. “This is my home. My job to hold here.” He had a dozen volunteers around him, mostly veterans who had settled on Columbia. They would be the last ones to leave Carlisle Island.
Jax looked doubtful, but he just nodded. He didn’t like it, but he respected Anton’s wishes. “OK, people. Let’s go.” He motioned for the rest of his troops – there really weren’t all that many left anyway – to head down the path to the beach. It was about a klick to the evac point. They’d held for a long time, allowing Marek to get the remnants of the army – and a lot of civilians too – to the relative safety of the Rock. Now that job would fall to Anton and his dozen. They had to hold just a little longer.
Jax was motioning for his troops to hurry. The faster they got out, the less time Anton had to hold. The giant Marine was last, and before he ran down the path he turned toward Anton one last time. He was standing in the gap, firing both assault rifles on full auto, spraying the approaches. Jax didn’t kid himself; he knew Anton’s chances, and they weren’t good. “Lucius! The Corps forever!” He ran down the rocky path, following his troops to the beach.
Anton didn’t turn, but he answered Jax’s call, his voice was loud and booming. “The Corps forever!”
The federals had launched another assault, and a full battalion was rushing toward the gap. Anton’s troopers started to go down under the massive fire. First one, then another…until the grizzled old Marine stood alone. He’d been hit, more than once…he wasn’t even sure how many times. He emptied his last clip and picked up a gun from one of his fallen troopers.
No one saw the last stand of Lucius Anton…no one but the attacking federals. Finally, he was hit again, this time in the chest, and at last even his herculean constitution gave out. He sank to his knees, covered in blood but still firing his rifle. He’d fought on dozens of battlefields all over occupied space, but he knew this was his last. He couldn’t feel the shots as he was hit again and again, but at last his riddled body fell backwards, and he lay still on the rocks. His vision was almost gone; there was only a hazy orange light from the setting sun. And the shadowy shapes passing by…federal troops pouring through the gap he had defended for so long. Finally there was only the darkness.
Jax was the last one to leave Carlisle Island. He could feel the sour taste of defeat in his mouth as he stood on the back of the barge, pulling away from the place they were abandoning. The rebels had fought well, but there were just too many federals. There was no miracle on Carlisle Island, no legendary victory by the underdog. In the end it was raw attrition, the relentless mathematics favoring the attacker. It wouldn’t make much of a song or a barroom tale, but it was the cold calculus of war.
They’d loaded as many civilians as they could cram onto the barges. It was foolish tactically; their supplies would just run out that much sooner. But everyone knew Cooper was a monster, and they could only imagine what reprisals awaited the people of Carlisle Island. Tactics are all well and good, Jax thought, but we have to stand for something too…or we’re no better than this lot we’re fighting.
He’d waited to the last, hoping against hope that Anton would come racing down the hillside. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Anton had known he would never make it out – he’d known when he insisted on staying and holding the pass. Jax had lost more comrades and friends than he could easily count, but no matter how many were added to the list, it never got easier.
He thought about Anton…on Carson’s World and other battlefields. There were no parades for the fallen hero, no salutes or other fanfare…just Jax’s solitary eulogy. There were a lot of things Darius Jax could have said about Anton, but in the end he just muttered one phrase, one sentiment he thought Lucius would have appreciated more than any other. “He was a Marine’s Marine.”
Jax thought about the rebellion too. They were close to the end; he knew that much. The Rock was a tough position, but if the federals wanted it badly enough they could take it. Not right away, perhaps. They were hurt badly in the fight for Carlisle, and they needed time to lick their wounds and resupply. But they didn’t need to attack at all to win the war; all they had to do was wait…wait until the rebels ran out of food and supplies.
Jax’s thoughts were somber as he watched the Carlisle coast recede. Every Marine’s road ends somewhere. Lucius Anton’s led to that pass…and a desperate battle on a planet he’d adopted as his home. Would mine end here, Jax wondered, on this chunk of rock with Marek and the remnants of his army? “Well,” he muttered softly, “if it is time to die, might as well do it in good company.”
Chapter 28
Command and Control Center
AS Bunker Hill
Orbiting Columbia - Eta Cassiopeiae II
Compton stared at the stats coming in from the warp gate scanners. The fleet transiting into the system was big…a lot stronger than the rump force he still had under his command. The ships were being identified as they emerged, and it looked like all of them were vessels that had been transferred to the strategic reserve. These ships were supposed to be out of service, not crewed and ready for action. Compton was even more convinced that something strange was going on. Something very strange.
Jantz will join them, he thought, but I wonder if his whole force will go along. It’s one thing for them to repudiate my command authority and quite another to join with a force outside of the naval chain of command to attack navy ships.
“Joker, put me on fleetcom.”
Compton’s AI dutifully obeyed. “You are connected, admiral.”
“Second Fleet, this is Admiral Compton.” He paused and took a breath. He’d been under unceasing stress for the past six months, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He could face combat and danger; he done it countless times. But now he felt he was struggling every minute to maintain command, and it was draining him in ways he’d never experienced. He was uncomfortable on his own flagship, and he could feel the unspoken doubts, even from the officers who’d pledged their loyalty.
“We have detected a large number of fleet units inbound from the YZ Ceti warp gate. It appears that at least a significant number of these ships are vessels that were scheduled for demobilization. Apparently, the vessels of the strategic reserve had been appropriated for use by aut
horities unknown at present.” Compton hesitated. All his professional life he’d been decisive, but this was new territory…a situation he couldn’t have predicted. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do other than lay it all out for his crews and let them decide for themselves.
“In my estimation, this is further evidence that the naval chain of command has been somehow compromised. I have no information whatsoever regarding the personnel manning and commanding these vessels, other than the certainty that they are not part of the naval organizational structure.”
Compton paused again, wanting to give his officers a chance to consider the implications of what he had said. Someone was trying to run their own private navy, using naval vessels that were supposed to be mothballed in the long term reserve. Any naval officer would be concerned about a situation like that. “I would prefer to avoid conflict with the incoming forces, however, I do not intend to abandon this position, and I am prepared to fight if compelled to do so.” His voice was clear and calm; he was comfortable with his decision. Now the chips would fall where they may.
“Although we do not yet have a complete order of battle, it is apparent that the approaching forces are substantially superior to our own. Indeed, it is possible that we will be overwhelmed if we engage this fleet.” Compton took a deep breath – he’d decided what he was going to say, and he was about to take a calculated risk. “We are in a situation none of us could have foreseen. I will not order anyone to remain with me in this. Any ships that wish to stand aside from this fight may do so. I will take no action to interfere.”
He paused again, counting off a couple beats before he continued. “I believe this is the right course of action. Indeed, to me there is no other possible choice. This inbound force will undoubtedly bombard civilian targets on the surface of Columbia, and as an Alliance naval officer, I take it as my duty to stop them if I am able.” He swallowed hard and continued. “Duty is a hard taskmaster, and the essence of my duty is to protect the civilians of the Alliance. Regardless of political affiliations or opinions about rebellion, indiscriminate bombing of civilian targets cannot be justified.”