by Jay Allan
Dutton remained silent, looking expectantly at Hassan. The Caliphate spymaster had promised a peace offer, and he was anxious to hear it. “Perhaps, Lord Hassan, we should discuss the specifics of your proposal.” Dutton’s tone was coolly polite. He wasn’t about to show any surprise at the news of Atta’s execution.
“Certainly, Mr. Dutton.” Hassan walked over to a small table, picking up a ‘pad. “We propose that hostilities on Persis cease at once…and on all other contested worlds as soon as orders can be transmitted to our respective forces.” He was looking right at Dutton as he spoke. “And we would like your forces to withdraw from Persis immediately.”
“Yes, Lord Hassan, I am certain those actions would be most agreeable to the Caliphate.” He allowed a trace of impatience to creep into his voice. “May I ask what you are willing to offer in return?”
“If the Alliance accepts this peace agreement without delay, I am authorized to offer the terms set forth in this document.” He handed the ‘pad to Dutton. “You may read it in its entirety, but allow me to summarize for our immediate purposes.” His voice was firm, but Dutton could tell this was difficult for the Caliphate lord. He was accustomed to almost unlimited power, and asking for peace on unfavorable terms was a bitter pill. “The Caliphate will cede the planets Giza, Membara, and Zanzibar to the Alliance.”
Dutton had been glancing at the ‘pad, but his head snapped up as his host spoke. The Caliphate was offering three prime resource worlds, far better terms than he’d expected. Admittedly, they were on the periphery of the Caliphate. Their loss would hurt in material terms, but ceding them would simplify the Caliphate’s defensive obligations in any future conflict. Nevertheless, it was still a strong offer, one Dutton couldn’t imagine Alliance Gov rejecting, especially considering how strained the economy and military had become.
“What of the Central Asian Combine?” Dutton was coy, trying to get a feel for the status of the CAC-Caliphate alliance. “Are you negotiating for them as well, or would this peace agreement terminate hostilities only between our two respective powers?”
“I am authorized to make peace on behalf of the Combine as well as the Caliphate. The CAC is prepared to cede the Epsilon Tau system and pay an indemnity of 1.5 trillion credits over a 20 year period.”
Dutton felt a small letdown. It wasn’t the details of the proposal; the terms were highly attractive. But he’d allowed himself to hope the alliance between the Caliphate and Combine was fractured, that the Alliance could make a favorable peace with the Caliphate and continue the fight against an isolated CAC. Now it appeared the two Superpowers remained allies. They were offering peace, but they were doing it together. Still, he thought, the offer is a very good one…far too attractive to refuse. The Alliance economy was on the verge of collapse and, despite a few recent victories, it wasn’t going to be able to prosecute the war much longer.
Dutton sat silently, looking down at the ‘pad but not really reading. Finally, he looked over at Hassan and nodded. “I think we may have the makings of peace here, Lord Hassan.” His eyes dropped back to the small screen in his hands.
“There is one more thing, Mr. Dutton.” There was concern in Hassan’s voice.
Dutton’s head snapped back to face his host. “Yes, Lord Hassan?”
“I must have a concession that allows the Caliph to save face.”
Dutton’s expression twisted into a concerned frown. “And what would that be?” He’d figured the agreement was made. Now he wondered if Hassan was going to spring a dealbreaker on him.”
“The forces that have dropped behind our battle lines…” - Hassan took a deep breath - “…you must leave them to us.”
Dutton’s expression was quizzical. “Leave them to you?”
“You must withdraw the balance of your forces from the planet and leave them behind.” Hassan’s eyes gazed right into Dutton’s. “You must cease all communications with them and withdraw all logistical support.”
The Alliance spy took a deep breath, exhaling as realization slowly dawned. “You wish to attack and destroy them? To parade their shattered equipment before the cameras of your media?” His tone was calm, calculating, but without a trace of moral outrage at the suggestion.
“Yes.” Hassan didn’t even try to offer an alternate explanation. “Mr. Dutton, you know enough about reality in the Caliphate to understand that we – the lords and commanders who are supporting this peace proposal – must have something face-saving, a part of this settlement we can present to the Caliph as a victory.” He stared silently at his guest, finally adding, “We must have those Marines. There can be no peace without this concession.”
Dutton was surprised at Hassan’s straightforward honesty. He must be desperate, he thought. But the peace proposal was a great offer…far better than the prospects offered by continued hostilities. Dutton didn’t know if Hassan was bluffing about the Marines, but he quickly decided he didn’t care. Seven hundred leathernecks was a small price to pay, he figured, for the worlds to be gained.
“Very well, Lord Hassan.” Dutton extended his hand. “Subject to my complete review of the terms set forth in this document…and, of course, the approval of Alliance Gov…” – he held up the ‘pad – “…we have a deal.”
Hassan clasped Dutton’s hand. “And the Marines?”
“They are yours, Lord Hassan.” Dutton smiled broadly. “You may do with them as you please.”
“Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Dutton.” Hassan smiled, the decrease in tension obvious in his expression. May I offer you a drink?” Alcohol was banned in the Caliphate, but the prohibition was widely ignored, at least among the high command and the nobility. “I have an excellent Scotch. I get it through a source in the CAC.”
And your source gets it from someone in the Alliance, Dutton thought. He was amused at how those in positions of political power always managed to get their luxuries…even when they came from nations they were fighting desperately. For all the death and destruction, sometimes it all felt like a game to him. “Yes, Lord Hassan. That would be most enjoyable.” He followed Hassan toward the small table. “And Lord Hassan, I must ask one more thing from you.”
Hassan turned and looked expectantly at the Alliance spy. “Yes, Mr. Dutton? What is it?”
“You may have those Marines you feel you need.” Dutton’s voice was calm, unemotional. “But you must promise me that none of them will survive. No prisoners, nothing. I don’t want to deal with the blowback of live Marines screaming they were abandoned.”
Hassan picked up a small decanter and filled two crystal glasses, handing one to his companion. “That will not be a problem, Mr. Dutton.” He smiled, and clinked his glass against Dutton’s. “You have my word.”
Chapter 5
Anvil Force HQ
The Lines of Medillina
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Four
“Colonel Samuels, 2nd Battalion has broken through in two places. Major Zander is requesting reserves to push through the valley.” Lieutenant Grasso’s voice was higher pitched than normal. The young officer couldn’t hide his excitement. The entire Hammer-Anvil operation was a high-risk proposition, and everyone involved had been on edge for days. Grasso had been edgy when the Anvil force marched out, but now it was obvious the battle was going well, much better than expected. At least it was for the Anvil units; it was still too early to judge the success of the Hammer force. The fight wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But the news was all good so far.
The fighting had been heavy for a while, but it was becoming apparent the enemy forces didn’t have the strength to counter the heavy assault units under Samuels’ command. Their reserves appeared well below projected levels, and most of their strength consisted of second line units. The Marines had expected to run into Janissaries by now, but there hadn’t been a sign of the elite enemy infantry…at least not yet. If things were as successful with Force Hammer, Grasso tho
ught, the operation might end way ahead of plan. The two forces were scheduled to link up on day 15, but the Anvil units were running well in advance of that timetable.
“By all means, lieutenant, let us further our advantage.” Rafael Samuels towered over Grasso by a good 15 centimeters, his bulk so enormous it almost filled the lieutenant’s field of vision. Samuels was a giant of a man, a huge mass of solid muscle who towered over most of those around him. There were rumors the armorers had to construct a custom fighting suit for him because none of the standard sizes could be adjusted enough. No one seemed to know if that was true or just another one of those shadowy legends in the Corps, but it just took one look at Samuels to realize it was a possibility. He’d been called “the bull” as an enlisted man and a young officer, but his pride had grown with his rank, and he eventually cracked down hard on what he’d come to consider a disrespectful practice. He managed to fairly effectively banish the use of the old nickname, at least in his presence…and, in the process, create a whole series of new ones muttered behind his back in private conversations, far more disrespectful ones. The Marines honored Samuels’ rank – discipline, after all, ran through the very heart of the Corps. But they didn’t really respect the man. He was too arrogant; there were too many stories of him disregarding the well-being of the forces under his command. The Marines assigned to him would obey his commands, but he would never draw the kind of unquestioning loyalty a Viper Worthington could. He was too petty, too greedy and self-centered.
“Order 6th Battalion forward and through the breaches.” There was smug satisfaction in his deep voice. Samuels was extremely ambitious, and a notable success with Force Anvil would probably earn him his stars. Finally…they should have been mine already, he thought bitterly, but it’s hard to get noticed with the great Viper Worthington stealing the spotlight.
“Yes sir.” Grasso snapped back a sharp response and turned to execute the order personally.
Samuels stood and looked out in the direction of the fighting. The front line was about 3 klicks to the north. The enemy had been dug in on a nasty-looking ridge. It was a strong defensive position, and Samuels had expected to have a much harder time pushing through. If the enemy had their front line troops there, it would have been a bloodbath assaulting up that hillside. But there had only been a smattering of veteran regulars among the defenders…and no Janissaries at all.
He walked a few meters, glancing down at the large ‘pad set up in the middle of the HQ quad. It displayed a map of the area. His forces were marked by small blue icons, the enemy by red. The positions were updating, and all along the ridgeline, red marks were being replaced by blue ones.
They’re giving up the ridge without a real fight, he thought. It didn’t make a lot of sense…this was the best defensive position between his forces and Hammer. He’d expected the enemy to make a major stand, but they’d mounted a weak effort and then quickly bailed. Why?
Samuels wasn’t half the tactician he thought he was, but he wasn’t a fool either. Something was wrong, or at least not going as expected. Could the intel be incomplete, he wondered…was it possible the enemy was weaker on Persis than the scouting reports indicated? Or was there another answer? Had the invincible Viper Worthington missed something?
He reached down and touched the ‘pad gently, sliding his gloved finger across, zooming in on a section of the map. Where, he thought…where could they be hiding the Janissaries? Samuels wasn’t timid, but he had no intention of running into a shitstorm of enemy elite troops where he didn’t expect it. He intended to come out of this operation as a hero and a general…he had no intention of letting Worthington steal all the credit again. And even less of ending up the goat when the great general’s plans went to hell.
He hit his com button, reopening the line to his aide. “Grasso, I want scouting parties pushed out from the main line. Platoon-sized.” He was thinking as he spoke. “I want them five klicks out. The main force is to hold position until the scouts are at the designated distance.” Five kilometers was pretty far out for an unsupported reconnaissance…but Samuels didn’t really care if a platoon got caught out too far and wiped out, as long as he got the intel he needed. He damned sure wasn’t going to take any chances with his main force. He wasn’t going to end up facing the music if Worthington’s intel was for shit.
“Yes, colonel.” Grasso’s voice was tentative. Clearly, he was thinking 5 klicks was far out too, but he was more concerned about the Marines who’d be sticking their necks out.
“Now, lieutenant.” Samuel’s tone was sharp, demanding. “Now.”
Chapter 6
Hammer Force HQ
Painted Hills
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Four
“Still no contact with Recon Beta, sir.” Lieutenant Masur had been at the com board for two hours, but he hadn’t been able to penetrate the interference and reach the lost patrol. “Whoever’s jamming them is putting out a hell of a lot of wattage.”
Shit, Holm thought bitterly. He didn’t like any of this. If they were jamming, they were doing it for a reason. And that reason was a hell of a lot more than just picking off a patrol. Was it a trap? Or were they planning to hit the Anvil Force hard and this was just an attempt to distract him? It could be anything, but one thing he was sure of…it was something. They weren’t wasting a whole fusion plant’s worth of power generation just to inconvenience his people or to take out ten of his Marines.
One thing was certain. They’d stopped his forces cold. He couldn’t lead his troops through that valley, not without knowing what was waiting for them there. The approach might be heavily fortified, and the risk of moving forward blind was just too high. But every hour they stayed put, the timetable fell further behind. His forces couldn’t move forward, but they couldn’t stand where they were either. The enemy had hit them hard late on day one, and again throughout day two, but they’d been quiet ever since. Still, it was only a matter of time until the next attack came…and his people were still vulnerable, deep in enemy territory and surrounded by enemies.
Holm’s mind raced, trying to consider every fact at his disposal. He’d had an aching pit in his stomach for days now, ever since he’d gotten the word that Captain Jones had been hit and the attack force was his to command. His…the meaning of that had quickly become apparent. He was responsible for the success of the op, for the lives of 700 Marines, every one of them looking to him to get them home. One of the most crucial ops of the war was under his command, and he was cut off…from the fleet, from HQ. He was totally on his own. I’m not ready for this, he thought when he’d first been told…but he realized it didn’t matter. Ready or not, the obligation was his. He was scared to death, but Elias Holm didn’t shrink from his duty, not while there was still breath in his body. If these Marines could look to him for leadership, he owed them nothing less than every shred of strength and wits he had to give them.
They needed his caution too, he thought…his careful analysis. It was much easier to wave the sword and charge forward gloriously into the fight, far tougher to exercise care, to truly think about each step. The mission was a difficult one to start, fraught with risk. But the enemy wasn’t behaving the way he expected…or the way the mission planning had projected. And that scared the hell out of him.
There was an explosion in the distance, followed by two more. They could hear the muffled sounds of combat from the patrol’s position but, with their scanners and com blocked in that direction, they had no idea what was going on up there.
Holm turned toward Masur. “I want another patrol pushed out there.” He’d been hesitating. He didn’t like sending more of this Marines into the unknown, but he realized he didn’t have any choice. Staying put wasn’t an option. Plunging forward blind with the whole battalion wasn’t either. “Send a whole section…and I want them to leave a chain of pickets every 500 meters. They are to report at once when they lose contact with the lea
d sentry.” At least, that way we’ll be able to keep track of the patrol.
“Yes, sir.” Masur snapped his response as he leaned over to work his com, relaying the order.
“And I want another flight of drones sent out.” The last two had been shot down by enemy fire before they’d gotten a good look at things in the target zone. There was definitely heavy resistance there - that much was certain - but he needed a lot more intel, and he needed it fast. “Send them 1 klick north and south of the prior flight. Let’s see if we can sneak around their main defenses and get a look in from the sides.”
“Yes, captain.” Masur turned then snapped his head back toward Holm. “Sir!” His voice was shrill, excited. “I’m getting a report, captain. We’ve got one of the privates from Recon Beta, sir. He’s on the com. Says he’s a little over one klick from here. His signal’s weak, but we’re definitely getting it.”
Holm’s head whipped around. “I want an escort sent down there to get him.” He leapt up to his feet. “Immediately.”
“Relax, private. I know you’ve been through an ordeal.” Holm was speaking through the com, but then he popped his visor. “Open your helmet, son. Let’s talk face to face.” The kid was almost hysterical, and Holm wanted to try to calm him down.
Private Burke stood in front of Holm. “Yes sir,” he replied nervously. A few seconds went by and then there was a soft cracking sound. The opaque visor slipped up and over the helmet, revealing the private’s pale, wide-eyed faced. Burke didn’t say anything else. He just tried to keep his eyes focused on Holm’s.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, private…Danny.” My God, Holm thought, how old is this kid? He tried to keep his voice steady, reassuring. He’d always had a gift for comforting less experienced Marines, especially in times of distress. It was a combination of factors – patience, calm, quiet courage. General Worthington could rally a force of Marines, and get them excited to charge into hell itself. Holm’s command style was only starting to develop, but it was clearly different. He had an empathy, a connection with the troops he led…a calmness he could impart to Marines facing the worst kind of danger. Even now, when he was under enormous strain himself, his mind stayed focused, steady…his tone calm, soothing. “You’ve done your duty well, private. Now I just need you to stay calm, and tell me what is going on up there.”