by Jay Allan
Kemal Raschid was the often ignored son of a powerful noble house. No one had expected anything from him except a life of decadence and dissolution. But he’d surprised his critics, becoming one of the most successful colonial lords in the Caliphate’s history. Before the First Imperium destroyed his handiwork, he had ruled over a prosperous and growing colony world and was in the process of founding two more. Now, Kemal shocked everyone again. He had no military training at all, but he showed an aptitude even he would never have expected. Though he was certainly an amateur, Kemal Raschid proved to be a formidable soldier.
“Abdul, I want Lord Ghanem’s levies to move forward and reinforce the first line.” Abdul Nouri was his closest advisor, a longtime retainer of House Raschid, who had accompanied Kemal into space. “This is the second time I am issuing this order. Advise Lord Ghanem there will not be a third.” Raschid’s voice was calm, but the menace was there, a coldness that was hard to miss. The Caliphate’s military code was clear and harsh. All Raschid required to execute a lesser noble like Ghanem was the inclination to do so.
“Yes, my lord.” Abdul’s voice was the perfectly evolved combination of familiarity and submission. There was an informality between the two of them, but Abdul never forgot the high rank of his lord. Like the master, the retainer seemed to have an innate ability to function in battle, and the two worked seamlessly together, directing the levy with far greater skill than Khaled could have expected.
“Emir Raschid.” It was Khaled. “I need you to reinforce your first line. I do not believe it will hold against the next attack.” Khaled had managed to keep the pressure off the center with targeted nuclear strikes, but now the enemy had adopted a deeper, looser order formation that was less vulnerable to weapons of mass destruction.
“Yes, General Khaled. I have already ordered Lord Ghanem’s levies to reinforce the line.” Raschid used the purely military title when addressing Khaled. The two had a potentially uncomfortable relationship on the battlefield. Khaled effectively commanded the army, though Murad was still the official leader. While Raschid held a military command under Khaled, he was vastly above the Janissary general in the Caliphate’s overall hierarchy, a potential source of friction between the two. But Raschid, while haughty and protective of his noble perquisites, was also intelligent and realistic. He knew the Janissary commander had the skill and experience to lead the army, and he and Khaled had managed to work together…far better than either had expected.
“Send another contingent.” A slight pause. “The enemy is coming in with Reapers, and we need all the firepower we can get.” Khaled fired out the order, but he added the explanation to soften the tone. As long as Raschid followed his military commands, Khaled was willing to respect his social rank.
“Yes, general.” Raschid recognized Khaled’s efforts toward a good working relationship between them, and he was prepared to meet the Janissary general halfway. “I will send Lord Qadir’s levies.” He hadn’t intended to say any more, but a second later he added, “And I will move forward myself and direct the defense.” Raschid wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he realized he did, indeed, feel the urge to move forward.
“Very well, Emir Raschid.” There was something in Khaled’s voice that hadn’t been there before…a deeper respect, perhaps. “Good luck to you. And be careful…you are not expendable.”
“Thank you, general. I assure you, I have no intention of expending myself.” Raschid felt something new…a pride he’d never experienced. He’d been proud of his high birth, and certainly of his achievements on Bokhara, but this was different, deeper, more intense. “We must win this battle, general, and you can be certain I will do my part.” He closed the line and turned slowly. “Abdul, order Lord Qadir to move his levies to the front line.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Raschid walked toward the armor he’d just escaped. “I want full reports on everything relayed to me, Abdul. I am going back to the front myself.”
Chapter 21
South of the Marin Highlands
Northern Continent
Planet Sandoval
Delta Leonis System
“The Line”
“Sir, we can’t hold here. These kids just can’t do it.” Jarvis was a veteran, but Warren could hear the frustration in his voice…and the strain. “We need seasoned troops to stiffen the line.” Warren’s corps had been falling back slowly, moving from one prepared position to the next. But the enemy kept coming…no matter how many the Marines took down, they kept coming.
“Colonel Jarvis, the commanding general will not dispatch any reserves to this position. I have argued for it repeatedly to no avail.” Warren was frustrated too. He knew how fragile his line was. His corps had been holding out for days, but barely. Most of his people were Marines in name only…they didn’t have the training or experience level that had always been the norm in the Corps. The Marines had held their standards high for a century, through wars and crises, and desperate need. But the First Imperium invasion had brought that to an end. The Corps needed bodies, and it needed them quickly. They got them, but it cost heavily in terms of the battlefield proficiency of the new units. Half the men and women he had in the field would have washed out if they’d had to complete the full training program. Warren didn’t even have enough experienced cadres to prop up his green units. There were sergeants running squads who were fighting their first battles.
Kyle Warren was the man for the situation, though. He’d been number two in the rebel army on Arcadia, a command he later inherited when General Thompson was killed in action. He knew how to handle inexperienced troops and manage their fragile morale…but he’d never faced the First Imperium before. It was hard enough to maintain the fighting spirit of veterans in the face of the relentless attacks of the deadly robot warriors…and all he had was a bunch of half-trained kids.
Cain had sent the fighter-bombers in again, hitting the advancing enemy with PBS runs, buying time for Warren to rally his faltering troops. But the bombers were almost all gone. Sending them against the First Imperium was almost murder, but the pilots still clamored to go. Veterans all, they understood the calculus of this war. In the air, they could help win the victory…and far better to meet death airborne doing their duty than cowering meekly in the hangers, waiting for the army to fall. If 1st Army survived this epic struggle, there were going to be a lot of medals issued to members of the flying corps. Most of those were going to be posthumous.
“Sir, they’re going to break. I have whole battalions in complete disarray. Half of them aren’t even firing back anymore.” Antoine Jarvis was a hardened veteran. There was no exaggeration in his report, no panic dictating what he said…and Warren knew it.
“I know. It’s bad over here too.” Kyle Warren had always been cool under pressure, and he’d managed to handle every crisis he’d faced. But now he had no idea what to do. He hesitated for an instant, pushing back his own fear, getting hold of the rising panic. “Antoine, we’re just going to have to hold them together. I need you in the front lines. Right now.” He paused and took a deep breath. “You take the left, I’ll move up to your right. It’s on us now to hold this thing together.”
“Kyle, you can’t come up here. This line’s gonna go no matter what we do.” Jarvis didn’t mention he was already in the forward trench. His troops would have run already if he hadn’t been there. He’d been ready to shoot the first Marine who ran, and for a few minutes the newbs were more afraid of him than the enemy. But that was wearing off quickly. “Stay back…it’s too big a risk for you to move forward.”
Warren knew Jarvis was serious. The colonel was a stickler for military formalities…the fact that he’d addressed his commander by his first name only reinforced the intensity of his concern. But Warren knew what he had to do. “You just worry about the left, my friend. I’ve got the center.”
“But, sir…”
“End of discussion, colonel.” Warren started moving forward through o
ne of the lateral trenches. The enemy’s cluster bombs were starting to land all around the command post. Pretty soon, he thought, it’s going to be as hot back here as it is at the front line anyway.
“Yes, sir.” Jarvis’ voice was sullen but still respectful. He had a bad feeling about things, but Warren had slammed the door shut. And Antoine Jarvis knew how to obey orders.
Cain sat impassively in his chair. His headquarters was in an uproar. The enemy was throwing its forces against II Corps, particularly the center. Warren’s people had inflicted heavy casualties, and Cain’s targeted nuclear strikes had destroyed thousands of battle robots. But the enemy was still landing reinforcements from orbit. Even Cain was becoming uncertain. How many, he thought…how many can they have on that fleet?
He knew his people wanted him to commit I Corps. Warren’s troops were green, and they’d already taken a lot of punishment. He knew what they were all thinking. Cain has gone crazy. Cain is unreasonable. He wants the impossible from his troops. He knew everything they were saying. And he didn’t care.
This war was different, the enemy unlike any they had ever faced. Feeding in reserves in the face of the advance would buy time. It would slow the retreat. It was what they had done in every battle so far. And each of those engagements had ended the same way…in annihilation, or at least in a frantic withdrawal. This battle had to be different. It had to end in victory.
“I have General Warren again, sir.” The stress was clear in Carter’s voice. Everyone on Cain’s staff was a combat veteran, and they all knew what the troops on the surface were going through.
“Put him through.”
Carter turned to his board. “He’s on your line, sir.”
“Kyle...what’s your status?” The question seemed absurdly obvious, but Cain was looking for a level of specificity beyond his staff’s cursory analysis. “For real, I mean.”
“It’s bad, sir.” Cain could hear the stress in Warren’s voice. “My lines could go at any minute. These kids just don’t have the training and experience.”
Cain wasn’t one to listen to excuses, and he usually figured people could do better than expected if they were pushed. But he knew Kyle Warren, and he trusted him. Warren had served as a junior officer under his command during the Third Frontier War, and the two had reconnected when Cain led the relief force that reinforced Warren’s rebel army on Arcadia. If Warren said his people couldn’t hold, he was probably right.
“Ok…” Cain was thinking, deciding what he could spare. “…can you stabilize things if I give you two veteran battalions?” He was reluctant to dissipate his reserves…he needed them for his final plan. In truth, II Corps was tactically expendable…just not yet. But Cain couldn’t just cut Warren and his people loose, whatever the tactical situation. Whatever opinions were floating around HQ, every Marine lost still cut at Cain deeply.
“It would help, sir, but things are really bad up here.” Cain could hear explosions in the background. Warren was close to the action…closer than he should be. “I’m sure two battalions will buy some time, but I don’t know how long.”
“Ok, I’m sending them now.” Cain paused, thinking of the times he’d been in Warren’s position. He wanted to jump in his armor and go back up to the surface…get in the line with those Marines. If Warren’s people were going to stand at his orders, he wanted to be there to stand with them. But now he needed to be here. The next few days would decide the battle…and determine if the enemy was stopped at Sandoval or if the rest of human-occupied space would become a battlefield. His duty was clear. “Good luck, Kyle.” Despite his best effort, Cain couldn’t keep the emotion entirely out of his voice. “I have total faith in you.”
There was a pause. Finally Warren spoke, his voice soft, strained with emotion. “Thank you, Erik. That means a lot. I’ll do my best.”
Cain closed the line. Warren would do everything he could, he knew that. He sighed and wondered when in his rise through the ranks sincere good wishes and manipulation had become the same thing.
“Let’s go. Keep it moving.” Major Calvin Grant stood on a rocky ledge, watching the 5th Battalion file out of the tunnel onto the plain below. It was a narrow accessway, and only two abreast could get through. His people were moving quickly, but Grant wanted more. “Speed it up, people. The war’s not going to wait forever.” General Cain had personally ordered him to move his battalion to the front. The urgency in the general’s voice was clear, and Grant understood the unspoken message. Every minute counted.
His Marines were veterans, and they’d bristled at sitting in their bunkers while the battle raged above. Now they finally had a chance to get at the enemy. Most of his people had fought in the Third Frontier War, and rejoined the colors when General Holm called for veterans to return. They’d mustered on Armstrong and shipped out to Sandoval, but the battalion had not yet faced the First Imperium.
“Captain Quill, your company is on point. Move out.” Quill’s people were the first out of the bunker, and Grant wasn’t going to wait until the whole battalion was formed up.
“Yes, sir.” Quill’s reply was crisp, eager. Grant knew even seasoned forces had morale problems against the First Imperium, but his Marines sounded as ready as any group of veterans he’d ever heard. He hoped it would last, because he had a funny feeling in his gut. He felt like they were walking into a firestorm.
Quill was just ahead, pushing two of his platoons forward, spread out in a loose skirmish line. There had been heavy nuclear exchanges by both sides, and any dense formation was just an invitation to wipe out the company with a single shot. Quill put the heavy weapons behind the lead groups, close enough to move up quickly in support. The third platoon was in reserve, bringing up the rear. They didn’t know what to expect ahead, and Quill wanted the ability to react to any situation. It only took a few minutes for his caution to be rewarded.
“Captain Quill, cease your advance and form up for defense.” Major Grant on the com, speaking quickly, nervously. “Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Quill had no idea what was going on. They still had at least five klicks to go to reach the front lines. He switched to the companywide com. “Company A, halt.” His eyes were panning the landscape. “Prepare to repel an attack.” That was a guess…he didn’t have any hostiles on his scanner yet, but Grant didn’t halt them for nothing. “Dig in and deploy heavy weapons and SAWs.” They weren’t going to get dug in very deep, but even some rough foxholes would help.
He trotted forward…he was going to make sure they set up the best fields of fire. “Weapons platoon…advance to the front, and deploy between 1st and 2nd Platoons. I want all weapons in place in three minutes.” It wasn’t a realistic order, but he wanted them moving as quickly as possible.
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Harper, commander of the company’s reserve heavy weapons. “Moving forward now.” Quill figured that was exaggeration, but he knew Harper was a good officer and that he’d get things in place as quickly as possible. He wanted as much firepower in the line as possible. Battles were usually won by the side that maneuvered better and held back the most reserves, but fighting the First Imperium was different, more about bringing maximum fire to bear. It was the only way to even have a chance to destroy enough of the battle robots. And without the HVMs and SAWs, it was almost impossible to take out the Reapers.
Quill reached his forward line a minute later. The SAWs were in place and ready to fire, but the HVM teams were still deploying their heavier pieces. There was one just to the left of where he stood. The crew had chosen a good position, but Quill liked a spot a few meters south. He thought the line of sight would be better, and there was a small bulge in the ground…not much, but any bit of cover was helpful.
He walked over, waving his arms…pointing to where he wanted the launcher deployed. The crew understood immediately, and they picked up the partially deployed weapon and carried it over. Quill followed and crouched down, helping to level the launcher.
Quill loo
ked up from the HVM emplacement and his face turned white. “Major Grant, are you seeing this?” Though they were talking on the com, the two were barely fifty meters apart, both standing along the front edge of the deployment area.
Grant’s reply was slow in coming, and the battalion commander’s voice was shaky when it finally did. “I see it, captain.” Grant swallowed hard and let out a deep breath. “I see it.”
They were figures in powered armor…Marine armor. Hundreds of them…thousands. And they were running toward his people. Fleeing.
Grant’s mind couldn’t absorb it at first. He’d never seen Marine units broken and routing. Until now.
“Fuck…” Hal Desmond muttered under his breath as he skimmed low over the battlefield at 1,700 mps. Below him as far he could see, there were troops fleeing. II Corps was broken, at least its center was, and whole units had abandoned their positions across five kilometers of the line and fled for their lives.
Colonel Desmond was quickly claiming a place as the most successful ground support pilot in 1st Army. The way casualties were mounting among the flyers, it wouldn’t be long before he was the only pilot flying. Barely 10% of the army’s airpower was still effective; the rest had been blown away by the enemy’s precision anti-aircraft fire. The air wings had been virtually wiped out, but things on the ground looked pretty damned bad too, and Desmond was going to keep going up as long as they had a plane he could get in the air.
Flying low was the key to a successful bombing run against the First Imperium forces, but it took a hell of a pilot to handle a plane at hypersonic speeds less than 100 meters from the ground. “Iron Hand” Desmond was a smoking hot fighter jock…and then some.
“Control, this is Colonel Desmond.” He spoke softly and with effort into the com. At the gee forces he was pulling, that was all he could manage. “The whole center is pulling back in extreme disorder.” That was a generous characterization…the center was routing. “There’s a concentration of Reapers I’m heading for.” He paused, panning his head as much as he could manage in the cockpit. “The pursuing enemy forces are bunching, especially to the south. Suggest targeted nuclear strikes to try to break up the pursuit.”