To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  Orbiting Sigma 4 II

  Erik Cain stood rigid, immobile, waiting for the final launch authorization. His thoughts drifted back through the years, to missions and days long gone by. The landers hadn’t changed all that much since he climbed into a launch bay for the first time. The old Gordons had only carried five Marines; the newer Liggetts held ten. Everything in warfare had expanded in scope since Cain was a cherry, and the landing craft were no exception.

  Besides the larger size, there wasn’t much difference. Designed to carry troops in powered armor, the Liggetts were simple open landing sleds, just like the Gordons. The wave about to launch had already been coated with heat-resistant foam, and the armor power systems were activated. If all went well they’d be on their way down in 30 seconds.

  More than a few people had been surprised – some outright shocked - when Cain announced he was going in with the first wave. A number of officers had tried to convince him to wait until a landing zone was secured, but they were all told – with rapidly eroding levels of politeness – to mind their own fucking business.

  Terrance Compton had remained silent when Cain announced his intentions. He didn’t like the idea any more than the others. Losing Cain would be a disaster for the operation and, beyond the pure military considerations, Compton considered the stubborn Marine one of his few real friends. But he knew Cain well enough to understand this was something he had to do. Compton was worried, of course, just like everyone else, but he also knew Erik Cain was a survivor.

  “Final authorization granted.” The tactical computer sounded almost identical to the one on his first mission. He was trying to decide if it was the exact same voice. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but now he wondered, is it possible they’ve been using the same voice for 25 years? “Launch in 30 seconds.”

  Cain took a deep breath, too deep. His suit was filled with standard pre-battle oxygen-rich mixture, and he made himself mildly dizzy. His eyes were closed, and he was thinking of another battle…on Farpoint. He’d lost a lot of comrades over the years, but the fight on Farpoint had claimed his best friend. It was that battle, not the far larger one on Sandoval, that had cemented his hatred of the First Imperium…that fed his longing to grapple with the enemy, to battle them for as long as it took to destroy them.

  He wore a small silver pendant around his neck. He’d found it when he was cleaning out Jax’s quarters, and he’d held on to it. It was the only thing he’d kept from Jax’s possessions; he’d seen the big Marine wear it during every battle the two had fought for 20 years. It had been a violation of regulations, but somehow Jax had managed to sneak it under his armor every time, at least until his rising rank made subterfuge unnecessary.

  Cain had been stunned to find it in a drawer…for some reason Jax had gone into his last battle without the tiny talisman. If Cain had been superstitious, he’d have blamed Jax’s death on the big man leaving his lucky charm behind. But he knew better. Jax didn’t die because he forgot to wear a lump of silver around his neck…he died because of Cain’s prejudices, his arrogance.

  Now Cain was wearing the charm. He was wearing it for his friend, to honor him…to avenge him. They were about to bring the war to the enemy. He didn’t know what to expect on the ground, and he didn’t care. Whatever the enemy had down there, Erik Cain and the Marines were coming…and when they were done there would be nothing left but the silent remains of a world that had once been part of the First Imperium. Cain had lost the early fear of the enemy, and his Marines had followed his example. They were ready.

  “Fifteen seconds to launch.” The bay depressurized, matching the pressure of the upper atmosphere.

  Cain took another breath, a little less forcefully this time. He’d lost count of how many bays he’d launched from, but he’d never completely shaken the claustrophobia. He was always glad when they hit ground, and the locking bolt released him from the lander.

  “Ten seconds to launch.” Cain felt the rack moving, carrying the line of Marines to the launch track. The attack wave was combat loaded, so Cain was sharing a lander with a standard squad. His other senior officers were similarly spread throughout the landing force. There was no way Cain would allow a lucky missile shot to decapitate the entire command structure.

  “Five seconds to launch. Four, three…”

  Cain gritted his teeth. No matter how many times you did it, a combat launch was a rough ride.

  “…two, one…” The catapult blasted the lander down the track at 30g. It only lasted a second, but that much force hitting you slammed into your chest like a sledgehammer and forced the breath from your lungs.

  The first wave was strong, 6 battalions of crack Marines and 4 ortas of Janissaries. Just over 5,000 veterans were on their way down simultaneously. Normally, Cain would have wanted the surface of the planet blasted hard to soften up the defenses, but not this time. They weren’t here to win a battle or grab some real estate…they had come to find a way to defeat the First Imperium, and blasting everything into radioactive dust wasn’t going to help with that. They had to capture the enemy installations intact…or as close to it as possible. Cain knew this would be a brutal fight; so did the men and women in the strike force. No one on the way down to the planet’s surface was under any illusions as to what they faced.

  The sky was filled with every manner of debris to distract the enemy ground fire. Compton’s people were firing every type of purpose built ECM shell…along with bits of wreckage from the damaged ships of the fleet. There were clouds of sickly green haze everywhere, the radioactive, metal-laced steam the Caliphate called Smoke. Cain had never understood why the Alliance hadn’t adopted the system…the Caliphate had always deployed it with great success to interfere with scanners and detection systems.

  The countermeasures were the strongest ever employed during a planetary assault. No one liked sending the landing wave down against unsoftened targets, but no one could think of a workable alternative either. So with no bombardment preceding the assault, it was all ECM and deception protecting the vulnerable landers.

  “Well Hector, it’s you and me again.” Cain’s AI had been upgraded a number of times, but the system had used the same personality module since the day Cain left the Academy, first in his class and a newly minted captain.

  “Yes, General Cain. This is our 37th landing under combat conditions.” Cain’s AI had long sparred with him, having determined that such a persona was best suited to working successfully with the stubborn Marine. In recent years, however, Hector had modified its behavior. The continued losses and constant warfare – and the ultimate death of General Jax, compounded by Cain’s subsequent guilt over the incident – had made a change appropriate. The AI had gradually evolved into a more suitable assistant for the grimmer, older Erik Cain. Marines often complained about the personality quirks of their virtual assistants, but the interaction modules were actually extremely sophisticated and, on the whole, they worked quite well.

  “Activate tactical display.”

  “Yes, admiral.” The AI obeyed at once, projecting the schematic of the landing force inside Cain’s visor. “Please be advised that the accuracy of our scanning is subject to the effects of our own interdiction methods currently being employed.” In other words, Compton’s ships were filling the sky with all sorts of materials designed to interfere with First Imperium ground fire, and it was playing havoc with the Marines’ scanners too.

  Cain had planned a precision landing, a luxury he could afford himself with a purely veteran force. The intel from the surface was sharply limited, but what they’d been able to put together supported his decision. They were coming down around what seemed to be the ancient remains of a town or small city. Cain’s forces would occupy and surround the long-deserted site, creating a secure perimeter so General Sparks and his team could transport down and begin analyzing the ruins.

  Cain watched as the landing force descended. It looked like their formations were spot on, but none of that was totally r
eliable. Compton’s interference measures seemed to be working well, which made any readings highly unreliable. There was fire from the ground, but losses had been light…less than 2%. The entire strike force was on total communication silence until they hit ground – there was no point in helping the enemy ground to air batteries find them.

  “Four minutes to projected landing.” Hector released the lock on the blast shield, allowing Cain a view of the outside. He could see the sky and a bit of the landscape below. It looked like a nice day on any Earthlike world. There was a large sea directly to planetary north…and, 40 klicks to the west, a series of small mountains, where the fleet’s scanning indicated the main military installations were located. That’s where Cain and his people were going…right over anything that tried to stop them.

  Captain Jake Carlson crawled behind the embankment, making sure to keep down. The fire was thick, and he knew if he showed any of himself, the First Imperium bots would be sure to blast it off. He still felt a little weak, but the servo-mechanicals in his armor had adapted, feeding in more power to replace the strength his body still hadn’t recovered.

  “Colonel Brown, Captain Carlson here.” Carlson had been one of the first heroes of the war, a retired Marine sergeant who’d been serving as a part-time three-striper in the Adelaide militia when the First Imperium struck. Caught behind enemy lines, he was the first one to discover they were dealing with a robotic foe…or at least one that employed machine warriors. Carlson had been given up for dead, but he’d managed to find his way back to friendly lines, only to spend the next few years trapped in the planet’s abandoned mines with the rest of the survivors. The hastily converted shelters were ill-prepared and poorly-supplied, conditions which grew steadily worse as time went by.

  By normal military standards, Carlson had no place being present in this assault force. Three years trapped on Adelaide, with inadequate rations and supplies, had weakened him enormously, and he faced a considerable rehab period before he’d be truly recovered and ready for duty. But after 3 years of hiding underground while the rest of the Corps – and the other human forces – fought a grueling battle against a nearly invincible enemy, Carlson knew he had to get back in the line as soon as possible.

  It turned out Cooper Brown felt the same way, and the two of them spoke to their doctors, liaison personnel, superior officers…at least half a dozen. They all said the same thing…no chance. Then Cooper Brown went right to the top; he asked General Cain. The commander of the ground forces promoted Brown and Carlson immediately, and he assigned them both to his front line strike force. The grim Marine general knew all about personal demons, and he wouldn’t stand in the way of two veterans who knew what they needed, whether medical had cleared them or not.

  That business settled, he sat with Brown, and they talked about Adelaide. Cooper told Cain things he hadn’t spoken of to anyone, not even Jacobs. Not even Carlson. Cain just sat and listened mostly, and when Brown was through he whispered a few words and told him understood completely. Afterward, Brown shared Cain’s comments with Carlson. “The pain doesn’t go away.” Cain had said. “They lie to you when they say that it does…but you do learn how to deal with it. Eventually you even start to make friends with the ghosts.”

  Brown’s voice rattled loudly in his helmet, shaking him out of his daydreams. “Jake, what’s up? What’s your status?” Cooper Brown had been Adelaide’s other hero, the commander of the militia, who’d used a variety of harsh techniques to keep the planet’s refugees hidden and alive for almost three years before relief finally arrived. He’d been forced to do things he knew he’d never forget, or forgive himself for.

  Brown was the only reason Jacobs’ relief force had found anything but a planet of ghosts, but his reward had been the hatred of most of the planet’s population, who cursed him as a tyrant. Brown knew there was nothing left for him on Adelaide, so he and Carlson left with Jacobs’ fleet to go back to the Marines. Now Erik Cain had welcomed them both into the ranks. Back home.

  “We’re pinned down, sir.” Carlson’s company was up in the lead, scouting the way forward toward the enemy base. Things had been quiet in the two days since the strike force had hit ground…until about twenty minutes earlier, when all hell broke loose. “We haven’t spotted anything, sir, but they must have multiple egress points around here. I tried to push around the flanks, but they’ve got us bracketed on three sides.” Carlson reached back to scratch his neck, but all he managed was to hit himself with an armored fist. It had been years since he’d worn Marine armor. It still felt like home in some ways, but he had some adjustment ahead before he’d get used to it again. “Only regular bots so far, sir. No Reapers. Not yet, at least.” That was a good thing, because Carlson’s force was light on the kinds of weapons he needed to take out the heavier enemy units.

  “OK, you hold there.” He hesitated, his normally sharp decisiveness momentarily failing him. “I’ll get some reserves up and relieve the pressure on your flank.” Brown’s voice was a little edgy…firm, but also showing a hint of doubt that would never have been there before. The last few years on Adelaide, what it had cost him to hold the colony together and keep it hidden from the enemy…it had changed the formerly unflappable Marine officer. He’d retired to the once sleepy planet to enjoy some peace and quiet; instead he ended up dead center in a nightmare that, for a long time, looked like it would never end.

  Cooper Brown had put his Marine armor back on, but he hadn’t been able to recapture his old self. Not yet, at least. His hands shook, sometimes uncontrollably, though he’d managed to hide it so far. He had his AI keep the inside of his armor at 17 degrees, but his body was still slick with sweat. Brown wasn’t afraid for himself, but the stress of having men and women in battle, their fates in his hands, was bearing down on him in a way it never had before. Every man has his breaking point; Brown knew that. Now he wondered if he had reached his.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll hold on.”

  “Brown out.”

  Carlson didn’t like how Cooper Brown sounded. He’d served with Brown through all the fighting on Adelaide. He’d never seen a better man…or Marine. Carlson had been there too, in the shelters alongside Brown the entire time. He couldn’t imagine anyone as tough as Cooper Brown unraveling.

  But Carlson had only dealt with the personal deprivation; the burdens of every decision hadn’t been on his shoulders. He hadn’t been the one who had to apportion the dwindling supplies. He hadn’t been forced to refuse starving people more rations, or turn away mothers looking for medicines for their children. It wasn’t Jake Carlson who’d been compelled to order civilians dragged from the stinking shelters and shot because they were preying on the others…mostly because they’d been driven half-mad with hunger and fear. He realized he couldn’t possibly understand what Cooper Brown had been through, or what effect it might have had on him.

  He frowned. After all Brown had done, his reward was, for the most part, anger, hatred. The people vented the rage from their suffering at Brown. When the relief force arrived, they called for a trial, for Brown to be held accountable for his actions…for his crimes. Carlson had been infuriated by it all, disgusted. He knew the people of Adelaide had been driven beyond reasoning by their ordeal, that they’d turned on Brown – and each other – when they couldn’t take the suffering anymore. But that didn’t excuse the behavior. At least not to him. Cooper Brown had given everything he had to save the people of Adelaide…even his soul, Carlson thought sadly. Maybe he’d wasted it…maybe none of them deserved the sacrifice.

  But he didn’t care. He was back in the Corps now, and Brown was too. Carlson knew one thing - he was damned sure going to stay this time. He would face his enemies, and he might die on one of his battlefields, but he’d do it shoulder to shoulder with his brothers and sisters. He prayed to God his Marine brethren never turned on each other the way the civilians on Adelaide had…or at least that he died in battle long before he had to see that black day.

  �
�Alright, let’s stay focused.” He was addressing the entire company. “The colonel’s bringing up reserves. In the meantime keep your shit together and take these bastards down.” He glanced at his tactical display, checking on his unit positions. “Heavy weapons teams, we need max effect from you guys. Make sure you’ve got your best fields of fire.” He paused, running his eyes across the display. “That means you, Second Platoon. Get those SAWs 200 meters southwest. You’ve got high ground over there and an expanded field of fire. Move it!”

  Alright, Colonel Brown, he thought, we’ll hold out. He was still studying his display, picking out fallback positions in case he needed them. “But you hold yourself together, Cooper.” It was just a whisper, meant for no ears but his own.

  “General Cain, we have a major enemy counter-attack on the left.” Isaac Merrick was walking toward Cain, wobbling a little as he did. Merrick had been an army officer, and he’d spent most of his career commanding Earthbound forces. But he’d served the Corps well, battling alongside them in the bloody fighting on Sandoval, and by unanimous agreement of Generals Holm, Cain, and Gilson, the Corps recognized his commission, and he formally became a Marine.

  It was one thing to accept a friend and a worthy comrade into the Corps, quite another for him to function despite the fact that he lacked the years of specific training all Marines went through. Most Marines wore their armor like a second skin, but Merrick faced a long and difficult adjustment period before he was as lithe and agile in his fighting suit as the rest of his new comrades.

  Cain liked Merrick, and he greatly respected his tactical ability. But he knew the ex-army man wasn’t ready to be up on the line yet, not until he’d had much more time to master the tools of his new service. So he named him his chief of staff, allowing him to tap the full range of Merrick’s tactical skill while keeping him at HQ, where he was less likely to trip into a ditch on the battle line and get himself killed.