The Fall: Crimson Worlds IX

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir.” The Torch’s lights dimmed briefly every time its lasers fired. “More debris, General. We definitely hit something.”

  “Concentrate fire on the area around the debris field.” Cain was standing in the middle of the bridge, fists clenched. He knew Stark was out there somewhere and, by God, he was going to kill the son of a bitch.

  “General, we’ve got something on the scope. It looks like a ship of some kind, but the AI is drawing a blank on ID.”

  Cain turned toward the captain and stared at him with death in his eyes. “Fire.”

  Stark was fuming, wondering how some tiny ship in Martian orbit had picked off his location. He’d detected the ship when it arrived, but he wasn’t about to give his position away by attacking it. It looked like a courier ship or a small scout, nothing to worry about. At least that’s what he’d thought.

  “Get us out of here now.” Ghost had been hit worse than Spectre, and its stealth system had been knocked out. He’d ordered it to fight the enemy vessel while Wraith and Spectre escaped, and to proceed to the warp gate and head back to Base Omega. Stark had another destination in mind for the other two ships, but he couldn’t risk anyone following the damaged Ghost there.

  “Spectre control, this is Gavin Stark.” He looked down at his board.

  “Spectre control.” The AI’s voice was cold, impersonal. “Voice pattern identified, Stark, Gavin. Awaiting orders.”

  “Download destination delta-gamma-one-one into navigational computer.”

  “Selected course information is password protected. Access code is required.”

  “Access code alpha-zeta-gamma-delta-delta-three-six-one-eight.”

  “Access code accepted. Course delta-gamma-one-one now active in navigation system.”

  “Engage navigation. Maximum acceleration.” A smile crept back on Stark’s lips. He had one more surprise up his sleeve.

  “Engaged.”

  Stark leaned back, breathing as deeply as he could, as 4 gees pushed down on him. In a few seconds, he would be away from Mars, and on his way to his last base, a refuge so secret, no one but the Shadow Legion personnel stationed there knew it existed. Most of those who built it were still posted there, and the others were gone, sacrificed to the needs of security. It was his refuge for the final phase, and from there he would direct the end game of his plan to impose his rule on Earth.

  Cain pulled himself up and shuffled over to an empty chair. He’d been so intent on finding the ship he knew had to be there, he hadn’t considered they might decide to fight back. The Torch had taken a hit. It was just a glancing blow, but Vance’s amazing speedsters weren’t warships, not by any measure, and the blast had knocked Cain off his feet. Another hit or two and that would be the end of Sand Devil.

  “Maintain fire, captain. We’ve got the thing on scanners now, and we need to blast the fucker dead on.” The enemy vessel didn’t appear to be any stronger than the Torch, and Cain figured one more solid hit would disable it at least.

  “Erik…”

  Cain turned his head toward Teller. The Marine was sitting at another workstation, monitoring the enemy missiles. As soon as he saw his friend’s face, he knew. “The Ares Metroplex?”

  Teller nodded grimly. “Three detonations around the city. The second one cracked the dome. The last one shattered it.”

  Cain felt a tightness in his stomach, and he hoped there had been enough time for Vance’s people to evacuate the population, though he doubted everyone got out. He stared at the display for a second, hoping Vance at least had gotten to safety. Then he took a breath and turned back to the captain, who was looking at Teller, his face a mask of shock and pain.

  “Captain!” Cain’s shout was primal, and it shook the officer from his funk. “We need to take out that ship, and we need to do it now! Those are the bastards who just blasted the Metroplex.” Cain knew how to reach the baser instincts of men, to shake them from sadness and fear and channel their anger and longing for vengeance into an irresistible force.

  “Full power to the lasers. Fire!” Cain shouted, his roar seeming to shake the ship’s structural supports. His eyes were focused on the plotting screen, and an instant later, the ship went dark, every scrap of power from its straining reactor pumped into the weapons systems. A few seconds later, the power came back, and Cain focused on the screen. It was blank. Nothing but floating debris and chunks of ice and frozen gasses. The enemy ship was gone.

  Cain felt a rush of satisfaction, but something didn’t feel right. He looked down at the screen, reviewing the scanning data from the enemy ship. His eyes stopped on the tonnage figure, 3,500. There was no way a ship that size could fire 36 MIRVs. He felt his chest tighten, and rage flowed through his body. There had to be more than one ship. They hadn’t killed Stark. They’d destroyed the ship the bastard had left behind to cover his escape. Cain clenched his fists and screamed.

  Liang stared at small screen on his display, watching the ships converge from two directions. The Martian battleline had been savaged, two of its four battleships destroyed outright and the other two badly damaged. But the surviving ships, along with their attached cruisers and destroyers were heading directly for his flagship, firing with all their remaining weaponry.

  The two Martian superbattleships were coming in from the other side, their deadly x-ray lasers ignoring every other target, blasting away at him as well. He felt a chill go down his spine. This was no normal battle formation. The Martian admiral was coming for him! And every vessel remaining in the Martian fleet was bearing down.

  “Pull us back,” he shouted to his tactical officer. “Get us behind the battle line.” Liang could feel the cold, clammy sweat on his neck, and he took a deep breath. “All other ships are to engage the enemy fleet while we draw them in.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” The officer relayed the order to engineering, and he turned back toward Liang. “We’ll be engaging the engines in 30 second, sir. Prepare for 3g thrust.” He sent the orders to the rest of the fleet, ordering them to hold position and engage the incoming enemy ships. He doubted they’d view Liang’s flight as ‘drawing the enemy in,’ but they knew they were close to victory, and none of them wanted to risk Gavin Stark’s wrath. They didn’t have much respect for Liang, but they were scared to death of Stark. They served the most conscienceless killer in all of occupied space, and they knew how he felt about anything less than total success.

  “The battleline is covering our retreat, Admiral.”

  “Very well,” Liang said softly, trying to hide his fear. There was something about this Martian admiral that reminded him of Augustus Garret. Not in raw military talent, perhaps, but in terms of cold-blooded persistence. And the thought terrified him.

  Campbell was slammed back hard into his command chair as John Carter took another hit. The ship was surrounded, enemy cruisers and destroyers coming in from all sides to make deadly attack runs. But that was a problem for the damage control parties. Carter’s captain, and her gunners, were focused on one target and nothing else.

  Liang’s flagship was trying to withdraw under the cover of its screening vessels, but Captain Cartwright had managed to keep John Carter right behind its prey. The Martian behemoth had massive damage, and she was streaming frozen gas and fluids behind her, but she was still in the fight. Sword of Ares was trying to keep up, but she’d lost two of her engines, and she was down to a single reactor running at 50%. Campbell knew the vessel and its crew couldn’t be in better hands than Brian Oswald’s, but he still gave the superbattleship no more than even odds of survival.

  Campbell was silent, his discipline keeping the pain and loss all around him at bay. The battle wasn’t over yet, and it was still to be decided if those who’d died had done so in vain or in a noble victory. Win or lose, the Martian admiral knew his fleet was all but destroyed, and he was determined to inflict as much loss as possible on Stark’s forces in return. His people had given worse than they’d gotten, but it remained to be seen if they woul
d overcome their numerical inferiority in the end.

  John Carter shook again as she took a direct hit from one of the enemy battleships. The lights flickered, but all her systems remained functional. Campbell had his headset on, the line to Captain Cartwright’s bridge open. “Keep us on target, Will. And keep those batteries firing full.” The x-ray lasers were tearing Liang’s ship apart, each blast ripping through multiple decks, destroying everything in its path. Campbell knew Liang’s ship couldn’t take much more, but he knew his own savaged behemoth was also nearing the end of its incredible endurance. And John Carter had half the enemy fleet trying to take her down.

  Campbell snapped his head toward the com station. “All vessels, cease pursuit of the enemy flagship, and direct all fire on vessels attacking John Carter.” The Martian flagship would deal with Liang’s vessel herself, as long as the rest of the fleet could get some of the attackers off her ass and buy her some time.

  Christensen relayed the command, and all along the battleline, the battered Martian ships came around and fell on the vessels chasing John Carter. They struck like starving wolves, spewing death and destruction from every remaining gun, and all across the confused, intermixed lines, ships were blown apart and men and women died.

  “Search harder, Captain.” Cain was leaning over the captain’s shoulder, staring at the data streaming across the screen. He didn’t understand most of it; he’d spent his life fighting on the ground, not piloting spaceships around. But he knew there had to be something there, and he was going to find it if it was the last thing he ever did. “There has to be some way to track that ship.”

  “I’m running scanner sweeps in all directions, General. There is nothing. No energy trail, no radiation. Nothing to track.”

  Cain’s face was like iron. “We hit another ship, Captain. You know we did. We must have done some kind damage, even if it was minimal. There has to be something we can trace, even bits of debris.”

  “Yes,” the Captain said softly. “That’s an idea. Maybe debris. They wouldn’t have had time to patch anything before they took off.” His hands raced over the workstation, eyes glued to the screen. “I think I have something.” He leaned over the scope, staring intently. “It’s a faint trail, bits of plasti-steel and other materials, probably from the hull.” He flipped a few controls and put his face back to the scope. “We just might be able to follow it, General.” His face snapped up. “But we need to go now.”

  Cain nodded and slapped his hand down on the console. “Then let’s go. Just don’t lose that trail, whatever you do.” Cain tried not to sound too threatening with the last bit, but then again, he thought, a little extra motivation wouldn’t hurt the captain’s concentration.

  Chapter 12

  Dead Man’s Ridge

  Halfway Between LZ Holm and Weston

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  “Keep up that fire. Don’t give those bastards a chance to reform.” Callahan was crouched down, just behind his line on the reverse slope of the ridge. It had been named after one of the first families to settle on Columbia, but one of his non-coms had rechristened it Dead Man’s Ridge. Callahan didn’t know, but considering Columbia’s violent history, he suspected the new name might just stick.

  His people had advanced 15 klicks, moving straight toward Columbia’s capital…its ruins, at least. The scanning runs had confirmed that most of Weston had been leveled by a number of tactical nuclear warheads. By all indications, the detonations had taken place months before, probably during the final days of the planetary army’s defensive efforts. Callahan couldn’t imagine what those last days of fighting had been like. The Columbians had a reputation for never giving up, and he wondered how much of the civilian population had died in the fighting – and in the reprisals he suspected their resistance had provoked.

  He crouched down and walked along the line, checking on each platoon in turn. He’d been continually reorganizing, combining shattered formations to keep his units on the line closer to full strength. Moving troops around on an OB didn’t create any more of them though, and he’d had trouble manning his section of the line, at least until General Mantooth led a bunch of fresh units from the second wave forward and cut the area he had to cover in half.

  The bizarre air attack, followed by the almost-immediate landing of the second wave had stabilized the Marines’ position on Columbia. The enemy’s forward units had been almost obliterated, and the first ten klicks of the advance had required little more than walking straight ahead.

  Now the Shadow Legion defense was stiffening, and the Marines had been forced to fight against a series of enemy delaying actions over the last five klicks. Callahan’s people were just mopping up the last of these, a strongpoint that had put up a hell of a fight.

  “Major, it looks like the enemy is setting up a strong defensive line just east of Weston.” It was General Heath on the com. “Finish reducing the enemy position and halt your forces.” Callahan could hear Heath’s exhaustion, despite the general’s best efforts to hide it. “We’ve got the third wave coming down now, and we’ll wait until they are deployed before we continue forward and assault the new line.”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.” He didn’t like the idea of giving the enemy time to reorder themselves, but it was worth the wait to add the reinforcements to the line. The third wave consisted mostly of Janissaries, and the Marines deeply respected their new allies, if for no other reason than the fact that they’d had to fight them for so many years, and they knew how tough they were. Besides, his people could use a rest, however brief. He was about to move up and check on the reduction of the enemy strongpoint when his com crackled back to life.

  “Major Callahan, I’ve got two…ah…visitors here. I think you should come over immediately, sir.” It was Lieutenant Bevin, the commander of the platoon on Callahan’s extreme left.

  “Visitors? What the hell are you talking about, Matt?” There was a touch of annoyance in Callahan’s voice. Things were in better shape than they’d been a few hours before, but he still didn’t have time for bullshit.

  “Sir, I’m serious. They say they’re from the planetary army.”

  Callahan’s head snapped instinctively toward the south, in the direction of Bevin’s position. “They’re what?” He’d heard the lieutenant perfectly, but he still couldn’t reconcile with what he’d been told. He hadn’t dared to hope that any of the locals had managed to hold out so long against a force as deadly as the Shadow Legions.

  “They say they’re officers from the planetary army, sir. They claim there are over 1,500 men still in arms. Apparently, they withdrew to the swamps with most of the civilian population, and they’ve been fighting a guerilla war for the past eight months.”

  “I’ll be right there, Bevin.” He turned and started jogging south, crouching low to keep behind the cover of the low ridge. This, I’ve got to report, he thought. He flipped his com to the emergency circuit. “This is Major Callahan…I need to speak with General Gilson immediately.”

  “What am I going to do with you, Elizabeth?” Garret had intended to give Arlington the scolding of her life, but as soon as he saw her, his mind filled with memories. Garret had known for a long time how Terrance Compton felt about Arlington, and he’d encouraged his friend to ignore notions of propriety and act on his feelings. Compton hadn’t listened, of course. No more than Garret had expected him to. His oldest friend was as unorthodox as he was when leading a fleet into battle, but he was an old stick in the mud in other ways.

  Garret could see immediately that Arlington was still devastated by Compton’s loss, and his anger immediately drained away. He knew he’d never get over losing his lifelong friend. Why should he expect Arlington to endure the loss of the man she loved any better? But he still had to deal with her somehow. He couldn’t let her become a wild daredevil, risking her life recklessly until her luck finally ran out. He owed that much to Compton if not to her.

  “I am sorry, sir. However, I would lik
e to add that technically, I did not exceed my authority as task force commander.” She looked back at him sheepishly.

  “Technically, Elizabeth?” Garret glared back at her, but there was no real anger in his eyes. “Is it my understanding that you feel you should get off on a technicality?” He paused. “Is it possible you could have imagined that I would not have wanted to know about this operation before it was launched? You’ve been too smart an officer for too long to start playing dumb now.”

  “No, sir.” Her voice was soft, but she held her own and didn’t flinch. Augustus Garret was like a demigod in the Alliance navy, and there were few officers who could stand firm and endure his disapproval. Arlington was one of them.

  “Then why didn’t you advise me before you went ahead? We were, after all, on the same ship. Were we not?”

  “Yes, sir, we were on the same ship.” She stood rigidly and held his gaze. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid if I did you would order me not to go.”

  “You were afraid I would cancel the operation?”

  She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “In part, sir.” She paused.

  “What else?”

  She took a breath. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go personally, even if you allowed the operation to proceed. And I…” She stopped and took a deep breath.

  “Please continue, Admiral.” Garret’s voice was stern but compassionate as well.

  “I couldn’t order anyone to go on that mission unless I went along.” She hesitated for a few seconds before continuing, her voice becoming more strained as she did. “And I couldn’t abandon those Marines down there, Admiral. I couldn’t bear for us to leave our own behind. Again.” She gasped out the last word, barely holding back her tears.