by Jay Allan
He felt himself trying to push through the doubts, the dark thoughts, and answer the general. But it was hard…difficult in a way that was new to him. It wasn’t fear…though he was afraid…afraid of pain and death, afraid that he’d never see Sarah again…afraid of the judgment on his soul for the masses of faithful troops he’d led knowingly to slaughter. But this wasn’t fear. It was exhaustion…a fatigue deep inside him. Maybe, he thought, there is a limit to the butcher’s bill one man can endure.
“Erik?”
Cain could hear Holm’s voice through his daydream, and he pushed back the grim thoughts, slowly, painstakingly clearing his mind. “Sorry, general.” Erik Cain was a creature of duty, and he knew he would never retreat from that. He would find a way…somehow. “We’ll hold them off, sir. Admiral West and I will give them a hell of a fight.”
“I know you will, Erik.” Holm could see Cain was struggling with his inner demons. No man had been more on the forefront of the Alliance’s struggles for the past two decades than Cain. And no one knew Erik Cain like Holm did, save for Sarah Linden and perhaps Jax. “I’m counting on you.” He walked across the room and put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “There is no one I trust more.”
Cain forced a smile. “Thank you, sir.” He looked into the general’s eyes and hoped his weakness didn’t show in his own. “You can count on me, sir.” But there was still doubt in his mind…and something else. A coldness, something he’d never felt. Is this a premonition, he wondered…is this what so many other warriors have felt? Perhaps this is my last battle…maybe death is finally catching up to me. He wondered if that wouldn’t be a blessing of sorts, but he quickly suppressed those thoughts. He tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the work to be done, but the cold feeling was still there, hanging on the edge of this thoughts.
Chapter 22
Critical Care Unit 3
Armstrong Joint Services Medical Center
Armstrong - Gamma Pavonis III
“You are doing very well, James.” Sarah Linden gave Teller a sweet smile. “You’re a much better patient than Erik. I think there are still a few staff members here who draw nasty little cartoons of him.”
Teller smiled. It didn’t hurt. He was still getting used to things not hurting. For almost four months, every move he made was accompanied by excruciating pain. “There are a few Marines who do the same.” Teller surprised himself – he hadn’t realized he felt well enough to make a joke. Actually, he thought, you’d have to look far and wide in the Corps to find anyone with anything but reverent respect for Erik Cain. And that included James Teller.
“I’m clearing you for limb regeneration.” She maintained her smile, but a little look of sympathy crept onto her face.
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t get used to being out of pain?” Teller winked at her. “I’ll be fine, doc. I’m a Marine. We don’t even feel pain.” Limb regenerations were notoriously excruciating, and most anesthetics and pain relievers were off the table - they interfered with proper nerve growth. The pain was so bad that many patients needed psychiatric counseling to get over it once their new arms and legs were grown.
She let out a small laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve had some big tough Marines in here, and I’m pretty sure they could all feel pain.” Her smile faded. “You’ll get through it, James. I won’t lie to you and tell you it’s not a struggle, because it is. But when it’s done you’ll be good as new.” She paused uncomfortably. “I’m not going to be here during your regen. I’m heading to Sandoval to set up a forward hospital. Admiral Garret and General Holm are setting up a defensive line against the enemy invasion.” Her voice was becoming sadder. “We both know there are going to be a lot of casualties. That’s where I belong.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah.” He’d miss the personal attention he was getting from Armstrong Medical’s chief of staff, but he knew the Marines – and the naval crews – up there on the line needed her a hell of a lot more than he did. “You took great care of me.” She’d seen him through the crisis, bringing him out of medical stasis and putting his guts back together. Now she had pronounced his internal systems fully recovered…though she hadn’t proven it by giving him solid food yet. “I’m sure your team can slap two legs and an arm on without too much trouble.”
“Yes, they can.” She smiled once more. “You take care, James.” She leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I wouldn’t want you telling Erik I didn’t take good care of you.”
Teller smiled back and watched her walk away. Take care of yourself, Sarah, he thought. Things are likely to get hot up there.
Merrick walked down the street toward the Marine command center. He didn’t see much ahead, just a ramshackle group of modular buildings. It was all part of his re-education. The Marines had relocated their headquarters to Armstrong, but they’d poured most of the available resources into equipment and training for the combat forces. More tooth, less tail. General Holm and his officers clearly felt supporting their troops was more important than fancy offices for the brass. On Earth it would have been the opposite. The soldiers might be armed with sticks and stones, but the top generals would have a palace for their HQ.
He had no idea what to expect. He was already far from familiar ground. Even traveling alone was new. He’d been born to a powerful political family, and he’d entered the army as a major. As long as he could remember, he’d been surrounded by servants and aides. Now it was just him. He was a little lost, but the self-sufficiency felt good too. He was beginning to realize that, for the first time in his life, he was happy.
He’d gotten a message through to Holm, offering his services in any capacity the general may want. He checked into the Armstrong Hotel and waited. He’d been there two days when he was instructed to report to General Gilson at Marine HQ. Perhaps she was going to discuss ways he could contribute to the war effort. Or maybe she was going to arrest him and charge him with war crimes on Arcadia. Whatever it was, he’d find out soon enough.
He walked up to the guard station. There was a small booth situated about a meter in front of the perimeter fence. The guard post, the fencing…it all had a temporary look to it, as if it were thrown into place as quickly as possible. “Isaac Merrick to see General Catherine Gilson.”
The guard was dressed in neat gray fatigues with corporal’s insignia on his arm. There was a sharpness, an alertness to him that Merrick had never seen in his own troops. These Marines, he thought, are crackerjack troops. He was glad he’d only had to face a small, scratch-assembled force of them on Arcadia. They’d torn his units to shreds anyway.
“Yes, Mr. Merrick. She’s expecting you.” The guard was polite, but Merrick noticed he’d said “mister” and not “general.” Merrick had resigned his commission in the army, but as a retired officer, he was entitled to be called by his rank. He wondered if it was a deliberate snub. If so, was it aimed at him or just at the terrestrial army? “The private will escort you there, sir.” The guard motioned toward a light transport. Another Marine, in an equally spotless uniform, stood at attention next to it.
“Thank you, corporal.” Merrick turned and walked over to the vehicle. He pushed aside his uncertainties. The guard probably didn’t even know who he was. The private pressed a controller in his hand and the transport’s bay door opened. Merrick nodded and stepped inside.
The vehicle was a standard battle transport, but the inside had been fitted out to make the passengers a bit more comfortable. Though its accommodations were laughable by Earth standards, it was clear that Gilson had sent the best transportation she had. He leaned back in the borderline comfortable seat and waited as the private buttoned things up and boarded the driver’s compartment.
The ride to Gilson’s HQ was short…no more than five minutes. The hatch opened as soon as the vehicle stopped, and the driver turned and said, “This is General Gilson’s office, sir. Just go through the main door; they are expecting you.”
Merrick walked up to the entry. There
was no guard, but as soon as he stepped within a meter of the door, the security AI addressed him. “Please identify.” Merrick smiled. A general’s headquarters on Earth would have a half dozen guards standing around in dress uniforms. He was really starting to admire the sleek practicality of these Marines.
“Isaac Merrick to see General Gilson.”
“Enter, General Merrick.” The AI’s database, at least, had Merrick’s proper title.
He walked through the door. He’d taken about ten steps when a Marine with captain’s bars on her shoulder came walking down the corridor.
“General Merrick, I’m General Gilson’s aide, Captain Holder. Welcome to Marine Headquarters.” She stopped a few meters from Merrick. “If you’ll accompany me, I will take you to the general.”
Merrick nodded and followed Holder. Gilson’s office was just off the main corridor, about fifty meters from the entrance. The general was standing outside her office, barking orders to several officers. Gilson was a tall woman, with a short, spiky haircut, blond with a few wisps of gray. She was attractive, but her style was quite severe. It was clear she was a Marine first. Merrick knew she was in her early sixties, but with the rejuv treatments she looked about forty. When she saw Merrick and Holder approaching she turned to face them.
“General Merrick…welcome to Camp Basilone.”
“Thank you, General Gilson. It is my great pleasure to be here.” Merrick was a little relieved. Gilson’s demeanor was a bit stark, but he had a feeling that was just her personality. He didn’t think there was a war crimes trial in his future, at least.
“General, let’s go into my office. We have much to discuss.” Gilson motioned for Merrick to walk through the door. “I’ve invited one of my key officers to join us.”
Merrick nodded and stepped into Gilson’s office. Standing on the far side of the room was a tall Marine wearing a crisp set of gray fatigues. He turned toward the door.
“Hello, General Merrick. Welcome to Armstrong.”
Merrick noticed the single platinum star on each collar first…then he focused on the face. The recognition was immediate.
Gilson was standing behind him. “General Merrick, I believe you already know Brigadier General Kyle Warren.”
Merrick looked like he’d seen a ghost, but only for an instant. “General Warren. I’m glad to see you well.” Warren had led the rebel forces on Arcadia after Will Thompson was killed. Merrick had surrendered the remnants of the federal army to Warren.
“I’m glad to see you well too, general.” Warren had a pleasant expression on his face, not quite a smile, but enough to relax Merrick. “It will be good working with you and not against you.”
“You can stay in my quarters while I’m gone. Just order up anything you need. I’ve programmed my household AI to follow your instructions.” Sarah still couldn’t believe Alex was alive. The two had been inseparable as children, close even for sisters. The whole family had been tightly knit and happy. Until the 14 year old Sarah caught the eye of Presley Quinn, the son of one of the Alliance’s most powerful senators. That had led to a catastrophic sequence of events, which destroyed the family and left Sarah a fugitive, scraping out an existence in the urban wastelands. She’d believed her sister to be dead all these years…up until the moment she’d walked into Sarah’s office four months earlier.
“Can’t I go with you?” Alex bore a striking resemblance to her older sister. Her hair was a little paler blond, without the reddish tint of Sarah’s. She was a bit taller as well, but only a centimeter or so. “I just found you.”
Once she’d gotten over the initial shock, Sarah had burst into tears, joyous at finding her baby sister alive and well. The two had been joined at the hip since, and Sarah had spent every hour she wasn’t in the hospital catching up with her sister. They didn’t discuss their father and mother…or the tragedy that destroyed the family. That was too painful. But they talked about everything else.
Alex spoke in great detail about an entirely fictitious life, one she’d assembled carefully before making contact with her sister. It ended with her joining a colonization expedition to Wellington…and being evacuated before the enemy attack destroyed the planet. She’d had to modify the manifest of one of the freighters involved in the evac, retroactively adding herself to the passenger list, just in case anyone checked. That had been easy enough…more difficult had been playing the role of the loving sister. Alex hated Sarah…she’d hated her for years. She blamed her for her parents’ death, for the hell she’d lived through…the horrific things she’d had to do to survive. She even blamed her sister for creating the cold, scheming viper she herself had become.
“I’m sorry, Alex.” Sarah’s voice was firm, but conciliatory. “The navy is evacuating as many people from Sandoval as they can. It’s far too dangerous for you to go there. Especially after you just escaped from Wellington.”
In truth, Alex Linden wouldn’t have been caught dead on a miserable speck of dust like Wellington. But it was a good cover. “I can take care of myself. Maybe I can even help.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. It’s just not possible. Admiral Garret would never allow it.” She reached out and took her sister’s hand. “Stay here where it’s safe. I’ll be back. One of these days Erik will be back too, and you can finally meet him.”
“I can’t wait.” Alex’s sweet little grin hid her deathly cold thoughts. “I’m so anxious to meet your Erik after hearing so much about him.” She decided to give up on trying to get to Sandoval. Enough people here knew her as Sarah’s sister, and that should open the door for her to do some significant snooping. Patience was essential in her business. She knew she had to wait for her moment. One day she would meet Erik Cain…then she would take Gavin’s revenge. And after that she would take her own. Oh yes, she thought, we will settle our affairs soon, my dear sister.
Chapter 23
AS Broadsword
Outer Particulate Cloud
Near the Canis Minoris Warp Gate
Gamma Trianguli Australis System
Kristen Jarvis grabbed one of the white towels and wiped her face. It wasn’t easy to get a good workout at zero gravity, but the sweat running down her neck was pretty strong evidence she’d managed it. Broadsword’s captain wrapped the towel around her neck and made her way to the zero grav shower. She’d been working out twice a day – everyone on Broadsword had been. She was doing everything she could to keep the crew mentally and physically sharp.
The 11th Squadron had been on station for almost two months, running silent in the far reaches of the Gamma Trianguli Australis system. That was a long time to endure zero gravity, minimal life support, and cold food. Jarvis was particularly concerned about keeping her people busy and focused. Her crew was mostly green…new recruits fresh from training. All of her officers except for the XO were on their initial postings out of the Academy. Even she was on her first command mission, plucked from her berth as tactical officer on a cruiser to captain Broadsword. Fast attack ships were very different from cruisers and capital ships, and she was still going through an adjustment period. The suicide boat commanders usually came up organically through that branch of the service. But Admiral Garret had been able to get new attack ships off the production line a lot faster than larger vessels, and there weren’t enough experienced crews to go around.
Gamma, as the crew had taken to abbreviating the system’s name, was a fairly worthless piece of real estate. It had three planets…two gas giants and a single rocky world so devoid of useful resources it had been bypassed by every colonization expedition in the fifty years since it was discovered.
What Gamma did possess, however, was a particularly dense cloud of dust, gasses, and small asteroids, coincidentally located very close to one of its two warp gates…the one leading deeper into the Rim. The one Admiral West expected the enemy to burst through on their way to Farpoint.
Jarvis didn’t know when – or if – the enemy would arrive, but she was determined that her peop
le would be ready. Their mission was a simple one, at least on paper - ambush the enemy warships right after they transited. With luck they might catch them with antimatter weapons deployed on their external mounts…and if they did they might be able to pick off a ship or two and wear down the forces headed for Farpoint.
After the attack they would head out into deep space, trying to escape before the enemy could hit them back. They wouldn’t have any velocity to start, but they’d be heading in a vector opposite the enemy’s. Any ships detached to pursue her vessel would have to decelerate first and then re-accelerate in the right direction. It gave her a chance, at least, to get away. And if she didn’t, any ships that split off to chase her tiny craft would be pulled away from the Farpoint attack force. That wasn’t a particularly attractive option for Broadsword’s crew, but she could see the tactical effectiveness of the overall plan.
She was just about to climb into the shower when Broadsword’s klaxon sounded. Damn, she thought…that couldn’t have waited ten minutes? She pulled herself back to the changing area and slid back into her combat suit. The new naval suits were fairly comfortable and snug-fitting, very unlike the bulkier things in use when she’d served on her first ship. But with the helmet on, the suit could keep a person alive, even in deep space…at least until the batteries wore down.
Jarvis sealed up the suit, all except for the helmet. She felt grimy and uncomfortable – she’d worked up quite a sweat during her workout, and the cold air of the ship had just made things worse…clammy and uncomfortable. If this was the enemy coming in-system she could be in this suit for weeks, and this was no way to start that kind of marathon.
It was always difficult to get around in zero gravity, but she had enough experience to make her way quickly to the bridge. Most of her crew were having a tougher time navigating the mag-boots and handholds. They’d all manage, but she didn’t kid herself – working at zero-gee degraded the crew’s performance.