Crimson Worlds: Prequel - The Gates of Hell

by Jay Allan

  “Yes sir.” Burke was trying to control his nerves, but his voice was still shaky.

  “OK, son, give me a status report. Take your time…just tell me everything.” Holm looked into the young private’s wild eyes, feeling old by comparison. Though he can’t be more than five or six years younger than me, he thought, even if he got to camp at 15. Holm had spent those extra years on the front lines, however, surrounded by blood and fire and death. He hadn’t become what he was overnight, certainly…but had he ever been so green, such a raw cherry thrown into the firestorm of war?

  “Yes sir.” Burke was struggling, slowly getting a grip on himself. “We were pushing forward…” – he gestured toward the ‘pad, pointing to an area on the tactical map – “…here. We’d just moved out into the desert…the yellow sand…”

  Holm was staring at the ‘pad as he listened. “Continue, private.” His voice was soft, encouraging.

  “Yes sir.” Burke cleared his throat. He was still nervous, but he was getting steadier, more sure of himself. He reached out and pointed at a spot on the map. “Here, sir.” His eyes bored into the ‘pad. “This is where we were attacked.”

  “Lieutenant Masur.” Holm barked out the command. “I want a patrol to head to this location.” He pointed to the spot Burke had identified. “Coordinates 089-7416.” He glanced back at the ‘pad for another second. “Send a full platoon.” A pause, just a second or two. “And position another in support.” He wasn’t about to send his people in there to get picked apart piecemeal.

  “Yes, captain.” A few seconds later: “Sergeant Farner acknowledges, sir.” A short pause. “They should be there in a few minutes, sir.”

  “Very well.” Holm started to turn back toward Burke, but he paused and stared at Masur again. “Farner is to exercise extreme caution, lieutenant. Is that understood? I want information, not dead scouts.” Mack Farner was a blood and guts type, and Holm knew that well. But right now he wanted careful Marines…not dead ones.

  “Yes sir. I will instruct the sergeant to exert all possible caution.”

  “Very well, lieutenant.” Holm moved his head back toward Burke. “Continue, private.”

  “Yes sir.” Burke’s voice was firmer, more focused. There was help on the way to his comrades, and he felt a wave of relief. He pointed to the map again. “That’s where we ran into the jamming. At first, it was heavy, but we could still get some readings….but then it blanketed out everything. No com, no scanners, no sat relays. Nothing.”

  Holm nodded slowly. “Go on, private.”

  “Then the fire started. It came out of nowhere…from directly ahead. From the flanks too.” Burke’s voice was getting shakier as he recounted the firefight. “We had people down right away, but that’s when the jamming really amped up, and the sergeant couldn’t even get readings from the medical transponders.”

  “How were you able to communicate with Sergeant Rancik?” Holm’s voice was even, steady…a lifeline for Burke to grab onto while he recounted the battle that had savaged his squad.

  “I was right behind him, sir. A meter, maybe two.” Burke was struggling to maintain Holm’s gaze as he spoke. “He got hit, captain.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “He was hit twice, sir.” He just stopped and looked back at Holm, his eyes wide and glistening.

  “Then what happened?” Holm gave the young Marine a few seconds. “Was Sergeant Rancik killed, private?”

  “No sir.” Burke’s eyes flashed back to Holm’s. “He was hurt bad, though. I was trying to check his med scanners, but he popped his visor and started yelling and waving for me to do the same.” Burke cleared his throat and paused.

  “What did he say, private?”

  “He told me to get back to HQ and report.” Burke’s voice was quivering. “He told me to leave them there, sir…and to run.” Burke was getting upset again; the memory of leaving his squadmates behind was tearing him apart.

  “You did the right thing, private….Danny.” Holm nodded slowly. He was beginning to like Danny Burke. The young private was raw, but the kid’s heart was strong. He must have been terrified, but his biggest concern was leaving his squad behind. “It’s the hardest thing we have to do, son…leave friends in trouble. But the mission is always first. There’s more than one Marine on the line, more than a squad. You need to remember that. Always. Sergeant Rancik was right sending you here to report. He did his duty. And so did you.”

  Burke looked back at Holm, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Thank you, sir.” He paused then added, “I had to do what the sergeant said, sir. I didn’t want to leave…”

  “Captain, we have a report back from Sergeant Farner’s patrol.” It was Masur, speaking on Holm’s com even though he was standing only five meters away.

  Holm waved off Burke and turned away from the private. “Go ahead, lieutenant,” he said, keeping his back turned so Burke wouldn’t hear Masur through the open visor. Holm listened impassively as the lieutenant relayed the update. “Very well, lieutenant. Advise Sergeant Farner to find a strong position and dig in. Lieutenant Clinton is to advance and support Farner’s people.”

  “Yes sir.” Masur nodded and turned to trot to the com tent.

  “Sir?” It was Burke. “I need to get back, sir.” The private’s eyes wandered, darting from Holm to the rear…roughly the way back toward his squad. “They’re pinned down, captain…in big trouble. They need every gun. I have to get back and help them. I can’t leave them.”

  Holm sighed gently. “I’m sorry, son.” He reached out and put his arm on Burke’s shoulder, a gesture more symbolic than anything else while wearing armor. He paused, looking sadly into the young Marine’s eyes. “I’m afraid your squadmates are all dead.”

  Chapter 7

  AS Courier Vessel

  Near Battlestation “Henry”

  Orbiting Iota Persi V

  Day Six

  “The terms are agreed, Lord Hassan. I have just received word from Alliance Gov.” Dutton’s face wore a broad smile, a change from his usual unreadable expression.

  “All of the terms, Mr. Dutton?” Hassan was looking right into his counterpart’s eyes. “As set forth in our proposal?”

  Dutton nodded and walked toward a small credenza. “Yes, Lord Hassan. All of your terms.” He turned and glanced back at his guest. “You may have your Marine battalion…your face-saving victory.” His tone was businesslike, emotionless…to a random listener, he could have been trading away an outpost or 100 shipments of heavy elements instead of the lives of 700 Marines.

  Hassan’s eyes darted to the wall behind Dutton. A tall man stood there, silently watching.

  “You may speak freely.” Dutton had caught Hassan’s hesitation. “Please allow me to introduce my associate, Gavin Stark.” He paused while Stark stepped forward and extended a hand to the Caliphate lord. It was a presumptuous gesture for an underling, especially by the standards of highly structured Caliphate society. But Hassan held his anger. The deal was made, and he wasn’t going to risk it over a minor affront. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.” He simply nodded, ignoring Stark’s hand but excusing the insult as ignorance. He’d have been rather more offended if he’d known that Gavin Stark was an expert in Caliphate customs and culture. Stark had played a role in most of Alliance Intelligence’s recent ops, but he’d managed – at great effort - to maintain a low profile.

  “The pleasure is mine Lord Hassan.” Stark offered his response in perfect Arabic.

  Hassan nodded again, a bit deeper this time. “Your associate is to be commended, Mr. Dutton. His Arabic is flawless.” One wonders where he acquired such an accentless dialect. I suspect I would find his exploits…how shall I say, enlightening?

  “No doubt you would,” Dutton said pleasantly, filling two crystal glasses with amber liquid as he did. “But surely, today is a day to celebrate peace, not seek to dig up old grievances? We have been adversaries for many years, my Lord, but today we are friends.”

  H
assan glanced at Stark uncomfortably for a few more seconds, but then he turned to Dutton and smiled. “Of course you are right, Mr. Dutton.”

  “Shall we drink to peace?” Dutton walked toward Hassan, holding out one of the glasses. “I know it is normally forbidden…” - He smiled at the nearly toothless nature of the Caliphate’s prohibition against alcohol, especially among the elite – “…but this is a very special drink for a momentous occasion.” He held his glass up to the light. “A pre-blight brandy.”

  Hassan nodded as he took the glass. “Impressive.” He smiled at Dutton. “One hesitates to even guess at its value.” He swirled the snifter, holding it to his nose and inhaling. “So…to peace?”

  “Indeed, Lord Hassan.” Dutton nodded as he held his glass aloft. “To peace.”

  Dutton took a large swallow and gestured toward a small table with two chairs. “Please, Lord Hassan. Sit. Let us discuss a few minor details.”

  Hassan looked back suspiciously. “What details? I thought the terms were agreed.”

  “Indeed, they are.” Dutton gestured again and smiled as Hassan lowered himself into the proffered chair. It was buttery leather, overstuffed and extremely comfortable. “We just have some minor requests in how you deal with the Marines…and some assistance we’d like to offer.” He sat down softly.

  “I must have those Marines, Mr. Dutton.” Hassan’s voice was guarded, a touch of concern creeping into his otherwise cheerful tone. “We must have something to satisfy the Caliph’s honor.” Or he is liable to start lopping off noble heads like mine, he thought but didn’t say.

  “Indeed, Lord Hassan, you shall have them, as we agreed. It is a small price for the joys of peace.”

  “Then what are these…details?”

  Dutton exhaled softly. “We would like to help you.”

  “Help us? How?” Hassan stared back, confused.

  “We would like to assist you in defeating…in destroying…that force of Marines.”

  Hassan just sat silently, a shocked look on his face and his eyes focused on Dutton’s.

  “You must understand, Lord Hassan. We are willing to sacrifice these men and women to you, but such a course is not without…ah…difficulties on our end, as I am sure you can understand.” He paused, seeing comprehension begin to spark in Hassan’s eyes. “Our Marines tend to be somewhat more of a…hmmm, how shall I put it…discipline problem than your Janissaries. Unfortunately, it is frequently necessary to do more than simply give them orders. They often expect explanations as well.” There was distaste in Dutton’s voice, resentment from past adventures with the Marines. “And General Worthington is even more difficult to handle. If he knew we were sacrificing 700 of his Marines to you…”

  “Yes, Mr. Dutton.” Hassan nodded. “I begin to understand.”

  “Good.” Dutton turned toward Stark. “Gavin, perhaps you could provide Lord Hassan with the materials we prepared.”

  “Certainly, Number Three.” Stark referred to Dutton by his Directorate designation, the closest thing to a rank system in the upper levels of Alliance Intelligence. He turned toward the Caliphate lord. “This data chip contains a complete order of battle, equipment manifest, and real time status reports as of two hours ago.” He slid the small, flat crystal across the table. “It also includes all of the tactical maps and plans we were able to obtain from General Worthington’s headquarters as well as the most recent intel from our satcom network around the planet.” Stark’s voice was emotionless, his expression utterly non-committal. “Those satcom assets will be deactivated in…” – he glanced at the chronometer on his wrist – “…exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes.”

  “Well, Mr. Dutton…” – Hassan glanced over toward the frozen figure standing next to him – “…and Mr. Stark, I am impressed to say the least.” He reached out and took the chip in his hand. “This will all prove very useful, I am sure. Thank you, gentlemen.” He suppressed a small shiver. The data that Dutton’s protégé had provided would be extremely useful…but something about the man troubled him. There was a coldness there, almost a lack of humanity. Hassan had spent a lifetime plying his trade ruthlessly, but something about Gavin Stark was unsettling, even to his hardened sensibilities. Don’t be a fool, he thought, pushing back the strange thoughts…he’s just one of Dutton’s goons. But he still felt a coldness in his gut.

  “No thanks are required.” Dutton responded. “Just use the information and rid us both of these troublesome Marines. I fear if the matter drags on too long, we all risk unpleasant blowback.” He raised his glass to his lips, draining the last of the precious liquid.

  “I assure you, Mr. Dutton, we shall complete the operation as quickly as possible.” Hassan drank the last of his brandy and rose to leave.

  “And, Lord Hassan?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dutton?”

  “As we discussed previously…” – Dutton’s face wore the same satisfied smile – “…no survivors please.”

  Chapter 8

  Battlegroup Persis HQ

  Northern Continent

  Planet Persis – Iota Persi II

  Day Seven

  “General Worthington, we’re getting a Priority One transmission notification from fleet command.” Captain Kell couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. The fleet used Priority One communiques with great care. Whatever it was about, something big was up.

  Worthington had been staring at the tactical map, his face contorted into a concerned frown. The Anvil units were well ahead of target, but contact with the Hammer force had been intermittent. The enemy was jamming them hard, and it looked like they were stopped in place by heavy enemy resistance, unable to move forward. They weren’t very far behind schedule – at least not yet - but Worthington was still worried. It took a lot of power to jam so effectively. Why would the enemy waste so many resources blocking routine communications? Especially when they were putting up such a weak fight against the Anvil forces. Colonel Samuels was trying to portray Anvil’s rapid advance as a brilliant assault by his troops, but Worthington could recognize a token defense when he saw it.

  His head snapped around at Kell’s words. “Pipe it through as soon as it comes in, captain.”

  What the hell, he thought…what could this be? Maybe fleet command had some intel on Hammer. Something had been eating at Worthington ever since Samuels reported his rapid advance. The Janissaries. Where were the Janissaries? He knew the elite Caliphate troops were somewhere on the planet, but he had no idea where. They were dodging the satellite surveillance, hidden in some wood or underground bunkers…somewhere they couldn’t be seen. Anvil hadn’t reported any contact with the enemy’s front line troops, and Worthington was sure they hadn’t encountered any. If they’d been up against Janissaries Samuels’ people would be fighting for every centimeter right now, not advancing 3 klicks a day. So where the hell were they?

  Kell sat quietly, staring at the screen, waiting for the transmission to commence. A minute passed, maybe 90 seconds, then the board lit up. He hit a switch and nodded to Worthington. “On your line, sir.”

  “Worthington here.”

  “General Worthington, Admiral Clement here. I have news.” Clement was the fleet commander…and marginally Worthington’s superior. “Let me get right to the point. The war is over.”

  Worthington rarely allowed himself to be surprised, but this time he sat silently, struggling for words.

  “Yes, you heard me, Charles.” Clement had a reputation for being nearly as irascible as Worthington, but now he couldn’t keep the cheer from his voice. “It’s over, my friend. It’s over.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Not a very military thing to say, he thought, but it was all he had. The news was so overwhelming, so sudden…it just didn’t seem right. He couldn’t get his mind wrapped around the idea. “I didn’t know there were even negotiations going on.” It was all he could think to add.

  “Neither did I. Not until this morning. Apparently, the whole thing was very hush hush. The
y just signed the treaty yesterday. We got word from Commnet a few minutes ago. But it’s over.”

  Worthington just stared out across the HQ quad. “My God…” He just sat silently for another few seconds, his mouth wide open, trying to think of something to say. Finally: “So, do you have orders for me?”

  “I do. The communique had directives for both of us.” The cheerfulness in Clement’s tone continued, but Worthington thought he heard something else…a passing doubt of some kind, perhaps. He’d known Clement for decades, and he was sure there was something uncomfortable in his friend’s voice. “All forces are to stand down immediately and hold position pending further instructions.”

  Worthington smiled. “That’s an order I will carry out with great pleasure.” He paused, feeling a sudden wave of discomfort, despite his joy. It all seemed too sudden…too good to be true. “Assuming, of course, our adversaries have received their corresponding orders,” he added. He damned well wasn’t going to order his people to stop shooting until the enemy did. Worthington had a reputation for aggression, but in truth, he was thrilled at the prospect of peace. As long as everything was on the up and up.

  “They have.” Clement’s voice was back to its cheerful tone, whatever doubts that had momentarily surfaced re-submerged. “I have confirmed it with Admiral Sulieman.”