by Jay Allan
The Gates of Hell
Crimson Worlds
Prequel Novella III
By Jay Allan
Copyright © 2014 Jay Allan Books
All Rights Reserved
Also By Jay Allan
Tombstone (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
Bitter Glory (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
The Gates of Hell (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
Marines (Crimson Worlds I)
The Cost of Victory (Crimson Worlds II)
A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III)
The First Imperium (Crimson Worlds IV)
The Line Must Hold (Crimson Worlds V)
To Hell’s Heart (Crimson Worlds VI
Gehenna Dawn (Portal Worlds I)
The Last Veteran
The Dragon's Banner (Pendragon Chronicles I)
Upcoming
Even Legends Die
(Crimson Worlds VIII)
(April 2014)
The Ten Thousand
(Portal WorIds II)
(June 2014)
The Farthest Stars
(Crimson Worlds: Refugees)
(October 2014)
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Society in every state is a blessing, but government, even in its best stage, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one.
-Thomas Paine
Excerpt from the memoirs of General Elias Holm, Commandant, Alliance Marine Corps:
Persis. It was…it still is…a major Caliphate sector capital and one of their most important colonies. The system is a choke point, a nexus of half a dozen warp gates leading to almost everywhere worthwhile in Caliphate space. It is a massively valuable piece of interstellar real estate, utterly crucial to the Caliphate, and that’s why we were there. The Second Frontier War had been raging for more than a decade, and the scars of battle were everywhere. Tens of thousands of soldiers – and an uncounted number of civilians – were dead, buried in the sands they’d fought to conquer or defend. Dozens of worlds lay in ruins, the battlefields where the Superpowers fought their seemingly never-ending struggle.
The scale of operations, like the colonial holdings of the Powers, had grown enormously in the years since the previous war, and ten years of all-out effort had driven the combatants to the brink of economic collapse. The fleets were worn down, damaged vessels backed up at the shipyards and new construction unable to keep pace with combat losses. The ground forces had savaged each other in a hundred battles, the few surviving veterans pushed to the breaking point. There was growing starvation in the slums of Earth and hordes of refugees in the colonies, as more and more resources were poured into keeping exhausted armies and navies in the fight. Something had to give…the war had degenerated into a stalemate, one that was strangling all the participants. The invasion of Persis was designed to break that deadlock.
The operation was General Worthington’s brainchild. It was an audacious undertaking, by far the most ambitious planetary assault ever attempted up to that time. Persis had been considered one of the “untouchables,” a world sufficiently developed to fight off any mobile assault one of the Powers could launch. But no one had ever called “Viper” Worthington timid. His perfectly planned and executed lightning strikes had brought the Alliance back from the brink of defeat early in the war. At Persis, he would launch the most daring assault of his career, and it would win the war for the Alliance. But that brilliant victory would not be without cost…in blood and treasure, of course…but also in disillusionment and despair.
As a Marine you plan for anything…anything but being abandoned by your own government, left to die at the hands of your enemy, written off as the price of an advantageous peace. The fighting on Persis was brutal, hard on everyone who served there. But it became a nightmare for the Marines of the 3rd Battalion…the men and women it was my privilege to lead during those fateful days.
Marines stare into the gates of hell every day; it’s what we do. But on Persis, we went through those gates…and we came out on the other side. At least some of us did…
Chapter 1
Serapis Ridge
HQ – Force Hammer
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day One
“Alright, 3rd Battalion, let’s get moving.” Captain Elias Holm turned slowly, looking out over the deep valleys on both sides of the position. The ridge was ideal terrain, a long stretch of upland with a narrow depression running right down the center. Perfect cover. If the enemy wanted to move his people off this high ground they were going to have to throw one hell of a lot of force in to do it…that much was certain. Holm knew they didn’t have that much to spare, not without dangerously weakening their main line. His people had landed at a weak point, kilometers behind the enemy’s primary defensive axis.
“You all know what to do.” Holm snapped out his orders over the unitwide com. “Nothing’s changed, so get to work. I want everybody in position now.” There were landers scattered all around the ridge, and some of his platoons were still unloading and shaking out into formation. He had to get the rest of the battalion up onto the high ground and in position. If the enemy hit them while they were still forming up, he’d throw away every advantage gained by the surprise landing.
You’re running the battalion now, he thought, scolding himself, not your company. You should have gone through the company commanders, not direct on the open com. The other captains had almost certainly already ordered their platoons into position – he could only confuse things by micromanaging. You’ve got good people under you, he reminded himself forcefully…let them do their damned jobs.
The battalion had dropped behind enemy lines and seized the high ground south of the capital city of Tamiar, a high risk operation, but one with a huge potential payoff. Persis was a must-hold for the Caliphate…and the planet’s capital was the logistical center of the entire defensive effort. By threatening Tamiar and cutting its supply lines to the Caliphate field forces, the Marines disrupted the planetwide defense network and seized the initiative. But it was a dangerous move, a knife’s edge maneuver that could easily end in disaster. The battalion was deep in enemy territory, cut off far from any support. Holm knew his people were on their own.
The rest of 2nd Brigade was going to drive toward the battalion from the main Alliance positions to the north, hopefully taking advantage of the enemy’s disorder to slice deeply into the defensive lines. If the plan held, the two forces would link up on day fifteen, cutting the enemy army in two and opening the way for a combined advance on the capital.
Nothing had gone according to plan yet, though. The landing had been a surprise, and the enemy response was late and largely ineffective. Only three landers were hit coming in, but one of them was Major Wheeler’s. The battalion lost its CO before the first Marine hit ground.
Captain Jones was next. His company landed first, and they immediately ran into a small enemy strongpoint. They took it out, but not before they suffered half a dozen casualties…including Jones. That put Holm in overall command before his boat even landed, and no Marine considered it a good omen when a mission lost two commanders in less than twenty minutes.
Holm was a veteran captain, but running a battalion was a big jump up in complexity
from commanding a company. Especially when that battalion was on its own, the centerpiece of a difficult and dangerous operation deep in enemy territory.
Holm could hear the sound of his heavy breathing echoing loudly in his helmet. The pounding of his heart was forceful too, and it rattled in his ears. He’d known, theoretically at least, that he was third in command. Certainly, the possibility of inheriting the battalion was something he’d considered. Marines took losses, after all, sometimes very heavy ones. But he wasn’t prepared for it to happen less than 15 minutes in. Now he had 700 Marines, an entire reinforced assault battalion, shaken by the command losses they’d suffered and looking to him for leadership.
“Captain Clinton, I want your autocannons up and ready to fire in six-zero seconds.” Holm was trying to focus on his new role, shoving the doubts and uncertainty into the back of his mind. He had no time for them now, no time to wonder if he could handle the job that had landed on his back. He was in command now, and that was all that mattered.
He was getting there…slowly the training, the experience started to take over. His first priority was setting up a strong defense. When the enemy high command realized they had an entire reinforced battalion less than five klicks from Tamiar they were going to throw everything they could scrape up at Holm’s people, even if only to pin them down, prevent them from attacking the capital. “Get your mortar teams and rocket launchers situated in good spots within your coverage area. We had some landers come down in the valley, and we need to cover those teams while they move into position.” Clinton’s company had come down closest to the top of the ridge, and Holm wanted them ready for action ASAP. “You know we need to be careful with supplies, so I want those guns where every shot will count.”
“Yes sir.” Clinton’s commission was just ten days younger than Holms’, but there wasn’t a trace of resentment or doubt in his voice. Tom Clinton had known and respected Elias Holm for years, and he didn’t have the slightest resentment about following the barely-senior captain’s orders. Part of him was even grateful the crushing burden had fallen on Holm and not him. “I’m on it.”
Holm looked up at his visor display. He was about to toggle the small control near his left thumb when he remembered the newest suit upgrade. “Nate, display local tactical map. Radius, 10 klicks from current position.” The suit AIs were something new, installed right before the invasion was launched. Battlegroup Persis was the first major formation to be equipped with the new computer assistants, though only the officers and senior non-coms had them. Like most Marines, Holm tended to be a little reactionary, and he had a modest resistance to change. He hadn’t decided exactly what he thought of the thing yet. He was still uncomfortable with it, but he had to grudgingly admit it was a big convenience.
The officers were encouraged to give the new units names. Holm had always been a history buff, and he tagged his AI after an ancient general, Nathaniel Greene…though he’d almost immediately taken to abbreviating it to Nate. Nathaniel was more of a mouthful than he wanted to deal with in the heat of combat.
The historical Greene had commanded a largely outmatched force that lost every battle it fought…but won the campaign anyway. Holm, never a traditional thinker, always found that to be a particularly compelling example of “out of the box” thinking and true generalship. His admiration only grew after he went to the Academy and replaced the partial and heavily fictionalized official histories with the actual ones.
The tech who installed the device had told Holm it was a “quasi-sentient artificial intelligence.” Holm wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, either in practical or philosophical terms. He supposed it depended on how “quasi” they meant. So far the thing seemed almost human to Holm, not much different than speaking with another person. Except, of course, Nathaniel had access to petabytes of data and could do a lot more things at once than Holm or any of his Marines could.
“Displaying tactical map, captain.” Nathaniel had an unremarkable voice, calm and professional. “I have highlighted enemy force concentrations in red and 3rd Battalion’s positions in blue. There is activity consistent with imminent movement in the two locations flashing red.”
Holm had only asked for the map, but Nate’s analysis was spot on, and the added notations were highly intuitive. Maybe this contraption is a good thing after all, he thought.
“Nate, I want you to store all available tactical data from the satcom transmissions while they’re active. The Alliance navy had launched a surprise attack, seizing total control over the planet’s orbital space, a necessary prerequisite to executing the landing. While Holm’s forces were on their way down, the ships of the fleet deployed a network of intel satellites around the planet and destroyed the enemy’s own surveillance assets. The invasion force would have its eyes, and the enemy would be partially blinded and restricted in long range com…but only as long as the Alliance controlled orbital space.
“Yes, Captain Holm.” The AI’s voice was changing slightly, almost imperceptibly. Holm had heard that the units were designed to develop personalities specifically attuned to the officers they served. Supposedly that had caused some unpredictable results during the test phase, though none of that data had been officially released yet. Persis was the first real deployment of the devices, so there was no feedback from actual field use yet.
Holm wondered if the fleet units could hold until the end of the operation. The entire campaign had been a seesaw affair in space, with the arrival of each fresh squadron tipping the balance one way or another. If the Caliphate navy did return in force and drive the Alliance ships away from the planet, Holm would lose those satellites…and it would be the enemy who had the better intel. He intended to get the most he could out of his com advantage…as long as he had it.
“Captain Holm…” – Clinton again, sounding a little more serious – “…we’ve got bogeys heading our way, sir.”
Holm’s eyes were angled up, watching on his own tactical display. “I see that, captain.” Nate was already filling in details in the readout alongside the display. It was some kind of militia, probably from the Tamiar garrison…third line troops that had no place assaulting an elite Marine battalion. “Looks like militia, captain. I think these people need a quick reminder about who they are facing.”
“Yes, sir.” Clinton’s voice took on a vaguely feral tone. “I agree.”
“You may open fire when ready, captain.” Holm grinned. These part-timers would run as soon as Clinton’s autocannons opened up, he was sure of that. His smile didn’t hold, though. Chasing away militia is one thing, he thought, but there are Janissaries out there too. The Caliphate’s elite slave-soldiers were trained from childhood, raised in a dedicated warrior culture. They had no families, no life outside their corps. They were feared across human space, just as the Alliance Marines were. The two forces were bitter rivals, and a bloodbath was almost inevitable whenever they met…and they were certain to meet on Persis.
Holm stared out across the valley below. He’d faced the Janissaries before, many times, and his Marines had paid a huge price in blood in each encounter. He wouldn’t admit the Janissaries were as good as the Corps; no Marine would. But he knew they were close, very close. And they were out there somewhere, waiting to face his forces.
Chapter 2
Battlegroup Persis HQ
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day One
“The landings appear to have been successful, sir. Force Hammer is on the ground, and losses are well within the most optimistic range of estimates.” Captain Kell stood at attention in front of the general, but there was something in his voice…a hitch, a hesitancy to continue.
“Viper” Worthington sat quietly. He stared out from behind a makeshift desk, nothing more than an old sheet of plasti-steel held up by two plastic shipping crates. He wore a snarled frown on his face, an expression his officers had come to know well. “What is it, captain? Let’s not waste each other�
��s time, shall we?” Worthington’s tone was sharp, impatient. The general was legendary for going through aides, but Kell had weathered the storm far longer than anyone who’d come before. He was started to get his own reputation…as the aide Viper Worthington couldn’t break.
“Well, general…” - Kell cleared his throat - “…Major Wheeler was killed when his ship was destroyed during the landing.” No aide liked to report that the commander of a vital mission had been killed five minutes into the operation. But Kell wasn’t done. “And Captain Jones was wounded assaulting an enemy strong point.” Kell paused, eyes cast down as he did. “They tried to get evac down to him, but there wasn’t time. He lived for a few minutes, but the wounds were too severe. We just got the report of his death.”
Worthington let out a long breath. Losing two commanders so quickly was damned bad luck. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. “OK,” he finally muttered. He paused again for a few long seconds. “That puts Captain Holm in command.” He nodded slowly. “Elias is a good man. He can do the job.” Though it’s a lot for a young officer to handle, he thought, especially in a situation like this.
“Status report on Anvil?” He abruptly changed the subject. Worthington wasn’t a man to dwell on things he couldn’t change. The landings were done and Elias Holm was in command, and that was that. There was nothing he could do to help Holm now, so he’d just have to proceed on the assumption that the young captain could handle the burden fate had handed him. In the end, Worthington knew he had to have faith in his people. Besides, there was other work to do...things he could do something about.
“Colonel Samuels reports the first wave is ready to go.” Kell didn’t like Rafael Samuels, and his voice changed as he spoke, a hint of disdain working its way in despite his efforts to hold it back.