by Jay Allan
“Yes, sergeant.” Even Burke’s nearly unquenchable enthusiasm met its match in one of the Corps veteran squad leaders.
“Now follow me and keep your piehole shut. Maybe you’ll even learn to be useful someday.”
“Yes, sergeant.”
Rancik turned and started forward again. The squad was on point, checking out an intermittent scanner contact about 5 klicks ahead of the main force. They were behind schedule – mostly thanks to having to trudge through the gluey mud – and Rancik was in a foul mood. They’d gone about another half klick when all hell broke loose.
Rancik heard it immediately. “Everybody down!” He flopped to the ground, but too late. The first slug hit him in the leg, just below the knee. His body twisted, the force of the impact pushing the stricken leg out behind his body. Then more pain, his shoulder this time. He crashed to the ground, feeling the air forced from his lungs by the impact.
“Motherfucker,” he screamed, his volume impressive despite his wounds. He flipped up his tactical display. It was staticky, hard to read. It looked like the whole squad was pinned down. It was difficult to get a read, but Rancik figured they had two KIA and another two wounded besides himself. That was half the squad down.
He could feel the suit’s trauma control system working. The pain was already gone, at least most of it. He knew juicing him with painkillers was the easy part of his suit’s medical efforts, but he was still grateful. He needed his mind clear now…he had to get his squad out of this mess. And he had to report back to HQ. Now.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, poking at the com controls, trying to contact HQ. Nothing. He tried the unitwide com, but all he got was static. Fuck, he thought…they’re jamming us hard. He angled his head as far as he could without getting it blown off, taking as good a look across the valley as he could. The fire was still coming in heavy. He had fallen down behind a small berm, and he was mostly protected where he lay. The tactical display was still a jumbled mess. He wasn’t sure where the jamming was coming from, but there was a hell of a lot of power behind it to shut them down cold like this.
“Hammer HQ, this is recon force Beta.” He screamed into the com, hoping some portion of his message would get through. “We are under heavy attack. There are hidden strongpoints all over this valley. Request immediate combat support.” He slammed his fist down in frustration, the vibrations sending a wave of pain up his arm that momentarily overwhelmed the narcotics the suit had given him. “Fuck,” he screamed angrily.
What am I going to do, he thought…how am I going to get this report back to HQ? The suit was still working, trying to stabilize his wounds. He felt a cold, mushy feeling, first on his shoulder and, a few seconds later, on his knee. He winced in pain, despite the heavy dose of drugs in his system. The trauma control system was forcing sterile foam into his wounds, stopping the bleeding and protecting the injured areas. It was a surprisingly effective stopgap measure, but it hurt like hell going in, even with the drugs. The stuff was formed on the spot from a chemical reaction, and it expanded as it was being injected, squeezing and working its way into every corner of the wound.
His mind was racing, trying to figure a way out. They had no com, and they were pinned hard. He felt a shove…then a harder one. What the fuck? Then he realized. Burke!
“Danny…” He instinctively tried the com, but it was completely blocked. He fumbled around, fishing for his visor control. He winced…the switch was controlled by the injured arm, and it hurt like hell fishing around for the lever. Finally, he got his finger in place and pulled. There was a clicking sound and then a small hiss. His visor snapped up, and he was looking at the dark gray image of Burke’s armored form hovering above in the corner of his vision.
Burke was leaning over, looking at the med readouts on the sergeant’s armor. “Burke,” Rancik yelled as loud as his stricken body could manage. “Danny! C’mon, Danny, pop your fucking visor kid.” He swung around, trying to lift his good arm, slapping Burke’s armor with his gloved hand.
Burke turned and looked down at Rancik. He paused, just staring for a few seconds. Great, Rancik thought…I must look just great.
Burke’s visor snapped and retracted with the same hiss. “Sergeant, how bad are you hit?”
“Never mind that, Burke.” Rancik was having trouble getting out the words. “Forget about me, kid. I need to you to go find headquarters and report to Captain Holm.”
“I can’t leave you like this, serg…”
“Do what I tell you, kid. Are you gonna argue with me every time I give you an order?”
“No sergeant.” Burke still sounded uncertain.
“Just do what I tell you and stop thinking, OK?”
Burke nodded silently.
“Get your ass outta here and go find Captain Holm. Tell him the enemy has hidden positions all through this valley.” He shifted uncomfortably, gritting his teeth. “Tell him they have some kind of heavy jammer around here. They’ve got all our com completely blocked.”
Burke was looking down at Rancik, his face a mask of concern. “Sergeant…”
“Just go, private.” Rancik looked up at the young Marine. “Go now. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, sergeant.” Burke looked around, trying to figure a way out of the depression that didn’t expose him to enemy fire. There was a small gully extending back, down the slight slope behind the position. He crawled a step and stopped, turning back toward Rancik.
“Go private! Now!” Rancik waved his good arm.
Burke paused for another few seconds then turned and crawled down the ditch, quickly disappearing from Rancik’s view. The veteran sergeant lay back, exhausted. He coughed, a fluid, loose sound in his chest, and he could feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. “I’m fucked up worse than I thought,” he muttered, laying his head back and letting out a long, painful breath. Then: “C’mon kid…keep your head down and make it back there in one piece.”
Chapter 4
Caliphate Outer System Command Station
Orbiting Iota Persi IX
Day Three
“Mr. Dutton, I appreciate your meeting with me on such short notice.” Ali Hassan was a tall man, over two meters. He was wearing a tailored silk outfit typical of formal attire in the Caliphate. His beard was neatly trimmed, and he wore jeweled rings on several of his fingers. He was the picture of a Caliphate lord of the highest rank. “I realize that we have been longtime adversaries, but on this occasion, I believe we may be able to work together to end this costly and destructive war.”
“It is my honor, Lord Hassan.” Jack Dutton bowed slightly to his companion, his eyes remaining fixed on the taller man’s. There was wary respect between the two, but no trust. In the Alliance, Dutton would have extended a hand, but Hassan had made the invitation, so he adopted the customs of his host. Dutton was a ruthless spy who had put more men in their graves than the Marines’ best sniper, but no one ever said his manners were less than impeccable. “I must confess to a bit of curiosity as to the purpose of this meeting.” Dutton was initially concerned Hassan was planning to assassinate him, but then he decided that didn’t make sense. They were enemies, yes, but there was nothing to be gained by a pointless killing. Alliance Intelligence would just retaliate in kind. No, there was no advantage in random murder, not for either side. Ali Hassan was ruthless, but he was also capable and coldly rational. Dutton didn’t see how a war of assassination between the agencies would help either Power’s war effort, and the Caliphate’s top spy was only too aware that Alliance Intelligence had the best covert killers of all the Superpowers. Any treachery by Hassan would only seal the Caliphate lord’s own fate.
“I will do us both the courtesy of skipping over pointless niceties and, as your people say, get right to the point.” Hassan spoke in perfect English, with only the slightest accent. Though not relevant to the matter at hand, he also spoke Mandarin, Russian, and French. “I am authorized to offer peace terms to your government.”
Dutton was
a master at masking his emotions, but it took all he had to hide his surprise. The war had been trending in the Alliance’s favor, but the matter on Persis was far from decided. A peace overture was the last thing he’d expected. “Are you referring to a cessation of hostilities on Persis or a termination of the overall conflict?”
“I am proposing a comprehensive settlement to end this long and destructive war.” Hassan paused and sucked in a deep breath. “Again, I will spare us both pointless posturing that can do nothing to benefit either of our nations’ interests. The Caliphate’s economy is nearing total collapse.” He looked up and stared directly into Dutton’s eyes. “And the Alliance’s as well.”
Dutton felt an urge to deny the allegation about the status of the Alliance, but he caught himself. It would be a pointless gesture. There was no way to hide the strain the war had placed on his government and little to be gained in light of his adversary’s surprising honesty. The Alliance needed peace, as much as their enemies did. If the offer was sincere – and good enough – it could be a great opportunity. “If I return the favor and withhold my own pointless lies and posturing, perhaps we can expedite our business. What are the details of your proposal?” He knew he had the upper hand. It was weakness that compelled Hassan to call for the meeting. The Caliphate was on the defensive, and if they lost the battle for Persis, their position would be downright dire.
Hassan looked down at the floor for an instant before catching himself and darting his eyes back toward Dutton. He was well aware he had the weaker hand, and he hated being in that position. But he knew what he had to do. “Your General Worthington is a capable adversary. He has brought your nation back from the brink of defeat.” He paused again, as if not wanting to say what he knew he had to. “The invasion of Persis was a masterstroke, and his insertion of forces behind our lines to threaten Tamiar was utterly brilliant. He caught Lord Atta entirely unawares.” Atta was the commander of the Caliphate defenses on Persis. “Indeed, the fool has already been sent to make his petition to a higher authority. He was executed this morning.”
Dutton didn’t react. He wasn’t at all surprised that a scapegoat had been selected after Worthington’s daring operation. And, knowing the Caliphate, he wasn’t shocked it had happened swiftly. The landing had been only three days before, and Earth was nearly a full day’s transmission from Persis along the Caliphate’s Hypernet system. So the Caliph hadn’t thought long before handing out the death sentence. If he’d even been told of the situation. Unlike his brilliant father, the current Caliph was dangerously unstable and prone to fits of extreme rage. It was just as likely Atta had been condemned by the Caliphate high command, desperate to retrieve the situation before they were compelled to come clean with their unpredictable ruler. Indeed, after considering the facts briefly, Dutton would have ventured a guess that Hassan himself had ordered the deed done.
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