The Fall: Crimson Worlds IX

by Jay Allan

  “I understand, Minister Li. Please continue when you are able.” There was an odd tone to Warren’s voice. In spite of his suspicions, he wanted to hear what Li had to say.

  “My initial plan had been to propose to you that the two of us take actions to seize control of our respective governments, preparatory to a phased reduction in our war footings. This would be followed by a renewed peace and a reaffirmation of the Treaty of Paris.” There was a short pause on the line. “I believe however, if my intelligence is correct, that you have already taken control of the Alliance.” She paused briefly. “Congratulations on a flawlessly executed operation.”

  “That is correct, Minister Li. I have accepted the presidency on an interim basis upon the tragic death of President Oliver, pending implementation of a more final succession plan.”

  “Well said, Mr. Warren.” There was something to her tone, a weariness perhaps. Li An had played the game for a long time, and now, near the end of her long life, she craved nothing more than directness. She knew how power worked and how rarely men gave it up voluntarily. Ryan Warren might call himself interim president, but she suspected the only thing that would remove him from office was a well-placed bullet, like the one that had likely ended Oliver’s tenure.

  “Since you have already completed the first phase of my proposed plan, I suggest the following. Give me 72 hours to complete my own coup here and seize control of the CAC. It is unlikely to surprise you that I have many assets in position, ready to move as soon as I give the order.” There was a brief silence. “I have never desired the top position, greatly preferring to remain in my lower profile post at C1. However, there is no remaining option. The fools on the Committee will lead us to disaster unless something is done at once.”

  “What do you want from me, Minister Li?”

  “Nothing. I simply ask that you exert all efforts to restrain further escalation of the conflict for 72 hours. If I am successful, in three days we will take matching steps to deescalate and to pressure our allies to do the same.”

  Warren was silent. After a few seconds, Li added, “I know it all sounds quite desperate, Mr. Warren, but I would submit to you we are past the point of anything less than desperation.” She gave him a few seconds to think about it then she added, “Consider this if you have lingering doubts.” Another pause, and more coughing. “I have already placed my trust in you as a show of good faith. I have no doubt you record all communications on this line. I have willingly stated my proposal to you, and a simple recording of that would be sufficient cause for my immediate execution were you to forward it to anyone on the Committee.”

  Warren considered her words carefully. He knew she was one of the smartest, most capable women who’d ever lived, and one of the most deceitful when it served her purposes. But she had exposed herself willingly, far more than he had. He couldn’t imagine why she would have done that unless she was genuine.

  “Why, Minister? Why take such a risk?”

  There was a small noise on the com, almost a chuckle. “Because, Mr. Warren, though no doubt most consider me a terrible old woman, and one rotten to the core as well, I am a patriot. I love my nation, and I have no desire to see it buried under radioactive ash. I am old. Very, very old. If I am to leave behind a legacy, let it be this. That I helped us to stop at the brink and not fall into the abyss.”

  Warren sat quietly for a few seconds. He’d put the headset on determined not to believe anything Li An told him, but now he realized he did. Everything she said made sense, and she was putting herself on the line more than she was asking him to. He didn’t want to see the Alliance utterly destroyed any more than she did the CAC. And he had no doubt that was where they were heading.

  “Very well, Minister Li. Unless my hand is forced, I will refrain from any escalations for 72 hours. Contact me when you have completed your operation, and we will discuss the scale down of hostilities.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Warren.”

  “Thank you, Minister Li.” Warren’s finger hovered over the disconnect button. “And good luck to you.” He cut the line and sat back, realizing he meant it sincerely. He hoped she pulled it off. Maybe she had just saved the world with her call.

  “General Emmerich’s division is about to enter the Paris suburbs, sir.” Potsdorf turned and looked over at Werner. “They are reporting extremely light resistance.”

  Werner was sitting on a long bench along the inside of a squad transport. His mobile command center had been destroyed, and the armored combat vehicle was the best thing he’d been able to find. “He is to advance into the city, exercising extreme caution. I repeat, extreme caution.” Werner twisted uncomfortably, desperately wishing he could scratch himself. The heavy protective gear was almost unbelievably uncomfortable, but there was no choice. There were radiation hotspots and drifting clouds of nerve gas all over the battlefield.

  Reports were still coming in, but Werner was sure his armies had suffered casualties in excess of 30% in the bombardments, and possibly as high 60%. Beyond the outright dead and wounded, his forces were hopelessly scattered, thousands of troops roaming the countryside, trying to find their units, or what was left of them.

  He had even less idea of the condition of the Europan forces, but anecdotal evidence from the field suggested they were even worse off. Werner had managed to reorganize half a dozen divisions with at least some balance of men, armor, and artillery, though each of them was barley a third its regulation strength. They hadn’t run into any formed Europan forces at all, nothing except scattered and disorganized groups. It had taken four days to reach the outskirts of Paris, and now they were on the verge of taking the Europan capital without a major fight.

  Werner knew things were bad on the eastern front. The nuclear exchanges there had thrown both armies into disarray, but the RIC had more reserves to send up, and the CEL didn’t. In the end it would be simple mathematics. Unless he could force Europa Federalis to surrender in time to move his armies to the east.

  He wasn’t even sure that would be enough. He still didn’t have an accurate report on his remaining strength, and most of the troops still in the field were poorly supplied and exhausted. But he knew it was the only chance, so he pushed his shattered forces forward. To Paris.

  The streets were clogged with terrified crowds trying to flee to the west and south. Ravennes didn’t know how the word had spread so quickly, but everyone in Paris seemed to know the CEL forces were moving into the city. Gaston Ravennes was the commander of the city guard, what was left of it. The army had drafted replacements from his people three times over the last year, and after the nuclear duel to the east, half of the rest had deserted and run. He had less than 200 men to try and keep order over a city with 3,000,000 terrified, fleeing civilians.

  He’d believed the propaganda, the reports the government offices kept issuing, promising that the Europan armies would stop the invaders before they reached the city. He’d believed them until two days before, when he saw the convoys leaving the government district, taking the politicos and their families to relative safety to the west and south.

  Now he knew the city was about to fall, and he had no idea how the CEL would treat anyone who stayed behind. The two Powers had been bitter enemies for 150 years, and the fighting had been brutal even before the nuclear exchanges inflicted their devastating losses. He couldn’t imagine the CEL troops were in the mood to be gentle with an occupied city.

  He’d sent his own family to his relations in Brittany, getting them out just before the mass panic started, but he’d stayed behind, unwilling to abandon what remained of his gendarmes.

  He’d heard there were problems in other areas as well. Europa Federalis was a political entity that controlled a dozen previously independent nations, and the consolidation that created the Superpower had not been a gentle one. Many regions had been pushed into the amalgamation by force, and resentment still simmered throughout the provinces. The brutality of the National Police had kept these complaints
in the shadows, but now many areas were in open revolt, rising up as the oppressive national government fell deeper into its death throes.

  Ravennes turned abruptly, the sound of a fight catching his attention. He ran over, pulling out his com unit and calling for a squad of his men. He reached down toward his pistol, but his hand stopped halfway there. No, he thought, I need to keep things calm, not start shooting people. It was a departure from normal procedure. According to the book, any civilians who became unruly threatened the public good, and they were to be stopped by whatever means necessary. But Ravennes knew in his gut the old ways were gone. The day of the Superpowers was passing and, without truly understanding, Gaston Ravennes had an idea that things would never be the same.

  “Please, please, citizens.” He ran forward, waving his arms. “Please keep order. You will be able to move more quickly if you simply stay in your place.”

  “It’s one of them!” The cry came from somewhere in the crowd. It was repeated, again and again, coming from all around.

  Ravennes suddenly felt a coldness move through his body, a realization that all authority had broken down. He was a symbol of the old regime, his uniform a beacon signaling to all, here is the focus for your rage.

  He knew he was in trouble, that the uniform that had for so long almost assured him of obedience now marked him as a target. He thought about drawing the pistol, but there were thousands around him. He might shoot three or four before they took him down, but the violence would only enrage them further.

  He moved slowly away, as if pulling back from a wild animal. But it was too late. The shouts grew louder and more violent. The mob was screaming for his blood. He turned and ran, trying to find a place to hide, just as two of his men jogged up to him.

  “Run,” he cried to them. “The mob is out of control.”

  The three of them tried to push down the clogged street, past a stream of people unaware of the mob’s focus. “Let’s get to the precinct building. It’s not far.” There was desperation in his voice as he pushed his way forward.

  He could hear the mob behind him, chasing, shouting to those closer to him. He felt a punch. Then another. The people in the streets right around them were turning angry, feral, becoming part of the bloodthirsty crowd.

  There was a sharp pain in his ribs. Someone had hit him with something, a stick or a rod of some kind. He lost his breath, but he kept pushing forward, desperately trying to escape.

  He felt hands grabbing at him, trying to hold him back, but he struggled free and kept going. He saw one of his men go down under the surging mass of people and, a few seconds later, the other. He still drove himself forward, through the pain and fear. He was an animal now, driven by pure instinct, trying to escape any way he could. He pulled out the pistol and started firing, shooting at anyone near him.

  A roar rose from the crowd, a merciless sound of pure hatred, as they closed on him from all sides. He fired as quickly as he could. He’d hit five, six, maybe seven of the enraged citizens, but then he felt arms grabbing him from behind.

  His body fell hard, slammed into the pavement, and he could feel the pain from dozens of blows. He was surrounded, and the crowd was kicking at him and throwing things, at least a dozen of them right around him, howling for blood.

  He tried to roll over, to protect himself anyway he could, but he couldn’t move. He coughed, and a huge glob of blood sprayed out of his mouth. The pain was unbearable, and he screamed in agony and rage. He tried to crawl free, but then he just stopped. Everything was quiet now, and the pain was gone. The light became dimmer, and he felt himself fading slowly, until the darkness took him.

  Axe waded through the waist-high water, moving as quickly as he could through the ancient, crumbling tunnel. The stolen flashlight was down to the last of its power, shining a dim light that was only useful for about a meter in front of him. “I think we’re almost to the Queens side. My people are waiting there.”

  The girl followed right behind him. She’d been skittish at first, afraid to get too close to him. But he’d taken her to the kitchen and helped her find some food that hadn’t spoiled. She was a little waif of a girl, but she’d have given Tank a run for his money packing away the food. He had no idea how long she’d been locked up with nothing to eat, but he knew he wanted to kill whoever had left her there, whoever did what had been done to her.

  She’d still shied away from him in the apartment, but when they got down into the streets she recoiled at the surging, violent masses and followed along. He told her she could come with him, but he didn’t try to convince her. She didn’t answer him, but she trailed behind, staying a few meters back. Now, in the darkness of the flooded, rat-infested tunnels, she was right on his heels.

  Axe pushed forward, trying not to think about the century or more of filth in the reeking, black water. He could feel the grade of the tunnel rising, and the water level began to drop off. He’d taken a tunnel into the Protected Zone, and he already felt like he’d walked as far as he had before. He was beginning to get worried he’d taken a wrong turn when he finally saw a faint glow farther ahead. He hurried his pace, anxious to get out into the sunlight.

  He walked slowly up toward the light, the water dropping away as the tunnel rose. The entrance was partially covered by a cave in, but there was enough of an opening to squeeze through. He looked around, realizing he had come out through a different tunnel than the one he’d taken in. He climbed up and onto a crumbling concrete platform, turning around and offering his hand to Ellie. She shied away for a second, but then she reached up and took hold, letting him pull her up and into the light.

  He turned and looked across the river at the kilometer-high towers of the Protected Zone, getting his bearings. He knew immediately he was too far south. His men were waiting about half a kilometer from where he was standing.

  “This way,” he said, pointing north. “If you want to come with me and my people, we need to walk this way for a few minutes.” He paused, trying to gauge her reaction. “If you want to go off on your own, I won’t stop you, but you’ll be safer with us.” He knew the girl didn’t stand a chance by herself, but he was worried if he pushed her too hard she’d run. He still couldn’t understand why he cared so much, but he did. He felt rage about the way she’d been treated, and just thinking about it infuriated him. He’d seen plenty of people brutalized, indeed he’d done more than a few terrible things himself - but there was something about Ellie, something that made him want to protect her.

  “I will go with you.” Her voice was soft, high-pitched with a gentle sadness to it. It was the first time she’d spoken to him.

  He smiled, adjusting the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. “Then let’s go.” He looked up to the north and then east, through the ancient ruins of Queens to the deserted lands beyond. “It’s time to leave this place.”

  Chapter 19

  Hill 68

  Just West of the Ruins of Weston

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  “Attention all units. Attention all units. Code Orange.” The warning was issued directly from the fleetcom circuit, and it blasted out of every com unit on Columbia, overriding all other messages. Marines, Janissaries, and Columbian soldiers all got the word at once. The enemy had gone nuclear.

  General Gilson had expected the move and, after the Janissaries spearheaded the big breakthrough, she’d ordered all units into extended order, deployed to minimize their vulnerability to enhanced weapons. The enemy was losing the battle for Columbia, and she knew they wouldn’t go down without causing as much damage as they could. They’d fought to the death everywhere else, and she didn’t expect things to be different on Columbia.

  She’d moved forward from her HQ, intent on getting a close look at what was going on. Now she was standing on the front lines, looking out from a hill Heath’s Marines had just taken. The fight had been a vicious one, with heavy losses on both sides, but Major Callahan’s battered 1st Battalion had won the victory. Neither Heath
nor Callahan were there to savor the triumph. The major had been seriously wounded in the initial breakthrough. He’d been taken to an aid station, and later evac’d to the hospital ship Boyer.

  General Heath had put himself at the head of his dwindling forces and charged through the breech, driving the enemy into the rugged terrain west of the capital. He’d been killed in the final stages of the advance, as his Marines were assaulting the last of the enemy strongpoints. He’d died a hero, on the vanguard of the advance, surrounded by his Marines.

  Gilson felt the loss keenly. Heath had been her protégé, much as Cain had been to Holm. He’d served under her for years, and she’d seen his career advance with tremendous pride. She knew he’d only done what he had to do. Marines didn’t lead from behind, and casualties were always high, even among senior officers. Heath’s name would be added to the considerable roster of Marine generals killed in action. It was a list of heroes, and Rod Heath would join such illustrious company as Elias Holm and Darius Jax.

  Gilson felt sick when she first got the word, but it quickly passed, becoming almost like a fact she hadn’t considered yet. It was a coldness borne of necessity, of the need to stay strong in the face of any losses. It made her a good commander, she knew that much. But she wasn’t all that crazy about herself as a human being. What does it say about someone, she thought, when you can give a friend half a minute of grief and then put him out of your mind, like he’d never existed?

  She ducked down below the crest of the hill, heading for a ragged line of trenches Callahan’s people had taken before assaulting the hill itself. She knew she’d poked her nose out farther than she should have, and she was lucky she hadn’t joined that list of dead generals herself.