Crimson Worlds: Prequel - The Gates of Hell

by Jay Allan

  Worthington let out a long sigh. Ten years of war. A decade of non-stop fighting that saw the Alliance driven to the brink of total defeat only to claw its way back, one bloody campaign at a time, to victory. At least he assumed it was a victory. He hadn’t seen the documents yet. For all he knew, the politicians had bargained away the advantage his men and women had fought and died to attain. But that wasn’t likely. The politicians cared less for the suffering of their soldiers than they should, but they were greedy for the gains their warriors could obtain for them. He was sure Alliance Gov had wrung every advantage to be gotten from the enemy.

  “There’s more, Charles.” There was a hitch in Clement’s voice, the discomfort returning to his tone again despite his best efforts to suppress it. “We’ll be commencing the evac of all ground forces on the planet within 24 hours…and that means you need to get your people ready ASAP.” Another uncomfortable pause then: “We are to be completely off-world in 72 hours.”

  Worthington felt a renewed jolt of concern. “Complete evac in three days? What the hell is the rush?” There was a flash of inquisitive anger in his tone, though it wasn’t directed at Clement. The admiral was a good man, one who had Worthington’s complete respect. Clement was just a messenger, one who sounded like he had his own concerns about the whole thing. But Worthington was still getting angry. He and Clement were in joint command of the whole operation, and it was starting to sound like they were getting incomplete information. He paused, running his mind over his entire OB. Three days was a very short period to withdraw a force the size of Battlegroup Persis. It was almost unprecedented. He was as excited as anyone at the prospect of peace, but the urgency of the withdrawal worried him. It didn’t make sense. There had to be something he didn’t know.

  “I know it’s fast, Charles.” Clement ignored Worthington’s angry tone…he knew it hadn’t been intended for him. “But those are our orders, and they are explicit.” He paused then added, “There’s no point in us second-guessing. Both of us have full plates getting your people offworld in three days.”

  Worthington snorted loudly. “Full plate doesn’t describe it. I’m not even sure it can be done.” The anger slipped away as his mind focused on the practical concerns of moving almost 8,000 fully armored Marines and their equipment off planet in less than three days. Even in the best case scenario, he’d be destroying most of his equipment so he could focus on just embarking his people. “How soon can you get a wave of boats down here?”

  It was Clement’s turn to let out a long sigh. “Can you be ready in three hours?” he blurted out suddenly. “I think I can get a partial wave down by then.”

  “Sure, three hours is good.” A tiny smile crossed Worthington’s lips. Three hours was a damned short time to have anything ready, but he wasn’t about to let the navy show him up. If Clement could get boats down in five minutes, he’d have Marines ready to embark in four. “I’ll send up the wounded first.”

  “Then let’s get to it.” Clement’s tone was businesslike, but the concern was there too, creeping back in. The admiral was as uneasy as Worthington. “Let’s do this right, Charles. Meticulous. By the book. And let’s keep our eyes open.”

  “I’m with you, Tom. All the way. Worthington out.”

  He turned to face Kell. “Start working on an evac plan, lieutenant, beginning with the field hospitals. I want the wounded ready to evac in 2 hours 45 minutes.” He hesitated for a few seconds. “But first, get me a line to Lord Samash.” Samash was the enemy ground forces commander, Worthington’s Caliphate counterpart. “We have a ceasefire to declare, and it’s going to take two of us to make it work.” He wanted to be happy when he said it, but the worry was still there, eating away at him.

  Chapter 9

  AS Belleau Wood

  Mid-Level Orbit

  Planet Persis – Iota Persi II

  Day Nine

  “All ground troops are off the surface now, sir.” Kell was reading reports on his ‘pad as he followed Worthington through the hatch of the shuttle and onto the gray plasti-steel of Belleau Wood’s landing deck. “That is with the exception of Force Hammer, of course.” He glanced down and read for a few seconds before continuing. “The first wave of transports is scheduled to depart in 30 minutes to begin their evac, sir.”

  Worthington stepped through the hatch and walked across the landing bay toward the armory, his heavy steel boots clanging loudly on the deck. His initial euphoria at the prospect of peace had faded, overwhelmed first by unfocused concern…and later by a growing anger. “This is the most fucked up evacuation plan I’ve ever seen.” He’d been stonewalled ever since he heard about the peace treaty, and he was fed up with it. “Who the hell planned this clusterfuck, anyway? Force Hammer should have been the first troops evac’d…not the last. Why the hell is Alliance Gov telling me how I can withdraw my Marines?” He turned and looked back toward Kell, the aide instinctively backing away from Worthington’s withering glare.

  Kell took a deep breath. He knew Worthington was close to one of his rages. The general was a virtual force of nature, especially when his almost uncontrollable temper kicked in. Kell had won the respect of the entire Corps by lasting so long as Worthington’s aide, and he’d done it largely by knowing when to stand aside and let a storm blow itself out. The Marines loved their fiery general, but preferably from a safe distance. Charles Worthington could tear down a veteran sergeant in half a minute, without taking his attention away from whatever other tasks occupied him. He’d done it many times, though fewer than the stories would suggest. It was the legend as much as the reality that inspired his warriors and intimidated his enemies. It served his purposes, and he did what he could to feed the legend. His men and women would follow him into places they wouldn’t dare tread if they’d known he was a mere mortal.

  “Well, sir, I can’t speak to the prioritizations, but at least most of the force has been evac’d.” Kell agreed with Worthington to an extent…he didn’t see why the embarkation was such a rush job, and he couldn’t understand the high command’s interference in routine details. But they had successfully pulled most of their forces off the planet, and they’d done it in just over two days. In a few more hours, when the Hammer troops were back aboard their transports, it would be finished. The fight for Persis would be done…the war would be over. “The Hammer forces are much closer to the Caliphate capital. Perhaps that has something to do with the specified embarkation plan.” He realized it didn’t make much sense as he listened to it come out of his mouth, but it was all he had to offer. He really had no idea why Alliance Gov had provided such detailed orders for the withdrawal, but then it wasn’t the first time he’d been at a loss to explain the dictates of the Alliance’s political masters.

  The heavy steel doors of the armory slid open as they approached, revealing long rows of harnesses. Most of them held suits of armor, blackened and pitted from recent action. Worthington had come up in the last wave, and most of the Marines from the Anvil and HQ forces had already embarked. The armorers would face weeks of work repairing and re-arming the fighting suits, though with the declaration of peace, it didn’t seem likely they would be needed any time soon.

  “I’ll feel better when everyone is off-planet.” Worthington backed into one of the harnesses, expertly guiding his suit into the locking bolts. “This whole thing still stinks to me, and I don’t like leaving any of my people behind.” Worthington had wanted to shuttle over to Hammer’s location and come up with Holm and his people, but he’d been expressly ordered to remain with the HQ group. “There’s another shoe to drop…I can feel it.” There was a loud cracking sound as Worthington popped his suit and stepped out, buck naked and covered in almost two weeks of sweat and grime. A fighting suit kept you fed, medicated, and tended to your normal bodily functions…but they hadn’t developed armor yet that offered a hot shower. “Something’s wrong.” He was shaking his head in disgust as he opened a small locker and pulled out a gray jumpsuit.

  Ke
ll popped his suit and jumped out next to Worthington. He leaned down, reaching into one of the lockers and grabbing his own set of the zip-up fatigues. “It was sudden, sir, but we can’t know everything involved. There must be a reason the evac was so rushed.” He climbed into the suit and zipped it. Then he pulled out a pair of soft rubber-soled shoes and slipped them on.

  “I hope you’re right, captain.” Worthington slid on his second shoe and stood up. He turned and looked over toward Kell. There was a long, hot shower in his future, but it was going to wait until all his people were back on their ships. “Let’s get to the command center. I want to monitor Hammer’s evac.” He took a small comlink from the locker and slipped it into his ear before turning and walking across the armory and opening the hatch to the main corridor. Kell followed right on his heels, still jamming his foot into one of his shoes.

  “General Worthington.” His com crackled to life a few seconds later. “This is Captain Craig in the combat command center.”

  “Yes captain…” – Worthington’s response was instantaneous – “…what is it?”

  “Sir, there have been several nuclear explosions in orbit. It doesn’t appear any attacks were targeted against the fleet, but we just lost contact with Force Hammer, sir.”

  Worthington stopped in place. “All contact?”

  “Yes, general.” Worthington knew what the captain was going to say before it came through on the com. “The detonations appear to have generated considerable EMP, and the after-effects are jamming our orbit-to-surface communications. Admiral Clement initially placed the fleet on alert, but it was canceled a few minutes later without explanation. I’ve been unable to reach the flagship since. We have a clear line, but they are not responding.”

  “Captain, I want all units on immediate alert. First and Second Battalions are to report…” He could hear a strange hollowness on the com. “Captain? Captain Craig?”

  “I’m afraid I have had to temporarily disable your communications, General Worthington.” The voice came from behind, and the general snapped around just in time to see half a dozen armed men walk around the corner.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Worthington’s roar seemed to rattle the walls.

  “I intend you no harm, general, I assure you.”

  Worthington’s eyes focused on the man speaking, the apparent leader of the group. He recognized him, though it took a few seconds for it to gel. He was an Alliance Intelligence operative, a very high ranking one if he remembered correctly. “Look, Mr…Dutton, isn’t it?” Worthington walked down the hall, glaring angrily. He completely ignored the armed men and the assault rifles pointed at his chest. “I don’t have time for whatever bullshit this is, so if you just…”

  “I am sorry, general, but I am afraid I have orders from the highest authority to temporarily detain you and your aide.” He stepped toward Worthington and handed him a small ‘pad. “I must ask you to come along voluntarily, or we will be forced to restrain you and arrest you for insubordination.”

  Kell felt a chill work through his body as he watched in astonishment. The senior field commander of the Marine Corps was being arrested. He knew Viper Worthington…far better than these Alliance Intelligence hacks did, and he didn’t see the general going along peacefully.

  He was sure the Marines on board would intervene…if they knew what was happening. These operatives may have cut the comlinks, Kell thought, but he still had a portable field link in his pocket. It was a backup unit designed for use in case of an armor failure on the battlefield. Normally, he’d have left it in his locker, but it had been a little staticky when he’d last used it, and he wanted to take it to the lab and get it checked out. There was no way to pull it out and contact anyone, not before the agents grabbed it…or just shot him. But he managed to put his hand in his pocket and flip it on without anyone noticing. The unit would be on the Marine emergency frequency, which the thugs standing in the corridor were hopefully not monitoring. He couldn’t call for help, but he might be able to let other Marines know what was happening. That just might be enough.

  “Why is Alliance Intelligence arresting General Worthington?” Kell almost shouted the question, speaking for the benefit of anyone listening to his com unit, but trying to sound like he was losing just his temper.

  “Silence, captain.” Dutton’s tone was sharp, icy. “Do not make the matter worse by resisting. You will both be released after a short confinement if you cooperate. If not, I’m afraid things could be far less pleasant.”

  “Mr. Dutton…” – Worthington’s voice bellowed from his throat with all the subtlety of an erupting volcano – “…I am quite finished with this nonsense.” He turned and started back down the corridor, away from the cluster of guards.

  “I am warning you for the last time, general.” Dutton did not raise his voice, but the threat was unmistakable in his tone. “Surrender at once.” He gestured with his arm, and the guards raised their rifles.

  Worthington stopped. His anger was surging, but he clamped down hard on it, grimly controlling himself. He’d play for time. It was the smart play. Getting shot here wasn’t going to help anything, and he’d probably get poor Kell killed too if he made a stand. They may have him captive, but they were on a ship full of Marines, and Dutton was going to have a hard time keeping him a prisoner here or sneaking him off with no one knowing.

  “This is far from over, Dutton.” His voice was like solid ice. He stood stone still, staring into the spymaster’s eyes with a blazing hatred. “Far from over,” he repeated, as the guards ran up and put shackles on his wrists.

  Chapter 10

  Anvil Force HQ

  Yellow Sand Valley

  Northern Continent

  Planet Persis – Iota Persi II

  Day Nine

  Holm was nervous. It didn’t make sense. None of it. He wanted to give himself up to joy, to rejoice and celebrate the peace like everyone else seemed to be doing. But something was wrong. He didn’t know what it was, but he was convinced, and he just couldn’t put the nagging feeling aside. He was tense, unsettled. He’d come down hard on anyone who started celebrating, reminding them they were still on active duty in a combat zone. There would be time enough for that nonsense aboard ship. He wasn’t going to tolerate it on the surface of an enemy planet. Let them think he was a first class, titanium hardass if they wanted to…he was only concerned with getting them off this rock alive. If he was wrong, he’d be the first one to admit it…and the drinks would be on him. But he wasn’t wrong. He was sure of it.

  “The first wave of landers should be launching shortly, sir.” Masur stood just behind Holm, looking out over the valley filled with Marines. There was activity everywhere, the men and women of Force Hammer rushing around across the hillsides like a swarm of ants, preparing to ship out. Masur knew they wanted to celebrate the coming of peace, but they were following Holm’s orders to the letter. Every work party was accompanied by a squad fully prepped for battle. Masur knew Holm well enough to be sure that would continue…until the last squad to board was covering the second to last. “That would put them on the ground in about 35 minutes, captain.”

  “I want all defenses manned until the last wave embarks.” The orders were redundant…Holm had given several versions of the same command already. He turned to look back at his aide. “And God himself won’t be able to help the first sentry I find who lets his guard down.”

  “Yes sir.” Masur was beginning to feel unsettled himself. He couldn’t understand at first why Holm was so edgy, but now it was starting to get to him, and he began to have his own doubts. He was beginning to question the suddenness of the peace…and to wonder why their isolated force was the last to embark. “I will make sure all defensive protocols are rigidly observed.”

  Holm walked slowly across the flat, sandy area just outside the HQ tent, staring out across the open plain. It was an ugly piece of ground, he thought, flat and covered with bilious yellow sand. The water table was high an
d, with the constant moisture, the sand felt more like a viscous clay that clung to boots, armor, equipment. It’d be a bitch, he imagined, fighting in this shit without armor.

  His people had fought hard for it, taking out the hidden strongpoints Rancik’s patrol had found…and a whole series of additional ones they hadn’t discovered. It was a sharp, nasty fight, one that cost Holm 33 dead and 40 wounded. He’d had no intention of staying here after the battle…indeed, he’d planned on moving forward as soon as the wounded were collected. Without the prepared fortifications the enemy had possessed, it was a wide open position…not very defensible at all. He’d been surprised the enemy had chosen the spot to make a stand. There was better ground along his line of advance both before and after the sandy plain. Those questions were still there, and they were feeding his unease. It just didn’t make sense. Elias Holm wasn’t afraid of the enemy, but he was damned scared of anything he didn’t understand.

  At least it was good ground to bring down landers, he thought, trying to improve his mood but not drawing much comfort from the effort. It was all he could do, though. His doubts were irrelevant. Word of the armistice had come in just after the battle, and his orders were clear – cease hostilities and remain in position. He’d have preferred someplace a little more protected, but his requests to reposition had been denied. Orders were orders, and Elias Holm knew how to follow them, whether he agreed or not. Besides, the ground was ideal for an LZ. He had to acknowledge that much, at least.

  “I want constant patrols on duty, lieutenant.” He didn’t have a choice about the position, but no one had said anything about not keeping an eye on the enemy. The battalion’s dispositions were his call. He was exactly where he’d been ordered to be, and if he decided to postpone the celebration and keep his people on their toes for a while longer, it was no one’s business but his and theirs. He suspected the Marines digging trenches were less than happy with their commander, but they didn’t get a vote.