To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  Chapter 18

  Hill 84

  18 Kilometers South of Enemy Base

  Planet Sigma 4 II

  “Commander Farooq, the enemy has committed additional forces. Still no Reapers, but at least a thousand battle bots, possibly more. They are flanking Colonel Brown’s regiment.” Sub-commander Mustafa was forward on the hill, directing the scouting effort on the enemy positions. He’d launched half a dozen drones, but it was hard to keep them in the air against the enemy’s interdictive fire. Only one was still up, feeding him fresh intel. “It’s way over on the flank…we’re too far away to plug the hole. General Cain will have to send in the Obliterators.”

  Farooq listened to his deputy’s report, his face impassive. “Negative, sub-commander. General Cain does not want to commit the Obliterators until we can confirm the enemy has no Reaper units present.” He paused briefly, adding, “And we are going to operate in accordance with his decision.” Stating it that way would head off a continued discussion, one that could only end up with Mustafa urging him to try and convince Cain to change his mind. That was something Farooq wasn’t going to do for a number of reasons, not the least of which was he agreed completely with Cain.

  The front of the hillside was an exposed position, a section of chopped up ground almost a klick ahead of the forward line. It had once been covered with the ubiquitous yellow ground cover, Sigma 4 II’s version of grass, but the shelling had left only a few burnt patches. Mustafa was crouched in a small foxhole with two of his troopers, hunkered down and out of the enemy’s line of fire. Getting there had been a little rough, and making it out didn’t look like it was going to be any easier.

  “I just lost my last drone, but from the data I have collated so far, I do not see how Colonel Brown can possibly hold his position.” Mustafa was concerned, and it showed in his voice, even over the com. “And if his regiment pulls back, our own flank will be exposed.”

  Farooq was reviewing the drone feeds Mustafa had been sending him. The danger was definitely real; the enemy attack was heavy, and there were reserves coming up from the rear. If Brown thinned his line enough to cover that added frontage, the enemy would be able to easily punch through at almost any point. “Colonel Brown will not pull back, sub-commander.” He was still reviewing the maps, but he’d already decided what he was going to do. “We’re not going to let that happen.”

  “Commander, it’s not possible. The enemy will have outflanked the Marines by the time we can get there…and we’d have to virtually abandon our own section of front to do it.” Most of Farooq’s Janissaries were still in reserve, but a detachment had taken over a small section of front line as well.

  “We’re not relocating, sub-commander.” Farooq’s voice had remained calm, almost monotone through the entire exchange. “We’re going to advance and drive through the forces in front of us. Then we’re going to swing right and launch an enfilade attack.” Let’s see how these bastards like getting hit in their flank, he thought. “Order the reserves forward. Now.”

  The valley in front of the Janissary position was quiet; neither side had forcefully advanced, each being satisfied to remain in their respective lines. But that quiet was about to be shattered.

  Farooq stood in his forward command post, counting down slowly to himself. “All units…commence firing Smoke.” His voice was calm; he might have been ordering dinner. But inside he felt the fire; his guts were burning with hate for the enemy. This was his third battle against the First Imperium, and he’d lost more than half his strength in each of the first two. His dead soldiers screamed from their graves for vengeance, and he was going to see they got it. “Your souls will rest, brothers. This vengeance is for you.” His words were quiet, barely a whisper. They were for him…for him and the honored dead of the Janissaries.

  He was looking forward across the battlefield, his visor projecting the input from the forward observation posts. There was a small explosion in the center of the field, almost a soft popping sound…then another…and more, all along the line. The shells released a sickly, pale green vapor into the air. The superheated steam was radioactive and highly toxic, its mix of chemicals and heavy metal dust designed to confound every known type of scanner.

  Within a minute, the field was covered with a line of the bilious Smoke, obscuring all view of Farooq’s forces from the enemy. He waited, a few seconds more. Then he gave the order. “First wave, advance.”

  Along the front, a line of armored warriors climbed over their trenches and out of foxholes, moving crisply across the field. The Janissaries favored a little more pomp and ceremony in their method of warfare than the Marines, and their formations were tighter, more regular. The Caliphate’s elite soldiers tended to be more tolerant of losses than the Corps, and their fighting style reflected that. It was a cultural difference, not any measure of the respective élan or courage of the two services. The Janissaries were raised in their corps from childhood, indoctrinated from youth into a monolithic way of thinking. Unlike the Marines, they had no life outside the service, nor any prospect of one.

  An old Marine could muster out to a nice colony world and, with his or her rejuv treatments, even have a family and live a long and pleasant retirement. A Janissary who survived the battlefields would find himself in an administrative job or a training position, but he’d never leave the service. An officer may acquire a favorite in the regimental brothel or even a personal concubine, but there would be no retirement, no family.

  Farooq’s men moved forward quickly, foregoing the zigzag approach the Marines executed so well. Accustomed to advancing behind their screens of Smoke, the Janissaries emphasized speed of advance over cover. They began to fall almost immediately…one here, one there. The Smoke provided strong cover and prevented the enemy from aiming effectively, but it didn’t stop them from shooting randomly. With weapons firing over 3,000 rounds a minute, there were going to be hits, whether the attacking units could see their targets or not.

  Farooq himself moved forward, just behind his forward line. It was a risky place for the force commander to be, but that was the Janissary way as well. There were always replacements for fallen leaders, as those who survived their time in the junior ranks advanced. Where a Marine colonel or brigadier might retire after a successful career, making room for younger officers to advance, a Janissary remains in the service, waiting for a vacancy at the next command level. Farooq and his peers knew it was their unspoken duty for most of them to die gloriously on the field, to make room for the next wave of commanders. After his close contact with the Marines, Farooq had begun to question some of the things he believed, but a lifetime’s indoctrination is a hard thing to escape.

  “Cluster bombs incoming.” The warning came in on the unit-wide com. Farooq wasn’t sure who it was until he checked his display. Sub-commander Sharef…over on the extreme right. The enemy cluster bombs were a nasty weapon, one that had cost the forces of the Pact greatly. There was nothing enormously advanced about the basics of the system, but the accuracy and control of the enemy weapon were well beyond Earth capabilities.

  “All units, continue advancing at full.” Farooq knew his troops would ignore the bombardment and keep moving, but he felt better specifically ordering it anyway.

  “Commander Farooq…report.” The voice on the com was unmistakable.

  “Yes, General Cain.” Farooq knew he was pushing his orders to the limit by advancing without specific authorization. He considered it crucial if he was to support Cooper Brown’s position, which is how he justified it. In truth, he should have asked for permission…but he was afraid Cain might order him to stay put if he did. “My forces are advancing. It is my intention to push forward and then att…”

  “And then you are going to attack the flank of the forces facing Colonel Brown.” There was something odd in Cain’s voice. Amusement? “That’s what I would have done too, but I need you to hold off. I’m about to hit the forces attacking Brown with the new PBS drones. I don’t wan
t your people getting caught up in that.”

  Of course, Farooq thought. The PBS drones were new…General Sparks’ plasma bombardment system installed in multiple independent warhead drones. The PBS had been highly effective when it was dropped from atmospheric fighters, but so many of the planes were shot down only a few managed to deliver their payloads. The drone system was designed for massive attacks intended to overwhelm the enemy defenses and truly carpet bomb a section of the battlefield.

  “Continue your offensive forward and take the enemy position if you can.” Cain was speaking loudly and clearly. Farooq spoke decent English and understood it very well, so he had his AI-translation turned off. “But then hold firm until I give you further instructions. You may prepare for your flank attack, but do not execute until you hear from me. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Farooq was relieved. His first thought was that Cain would be upset that he’d exceeded his authority. But the Alliance general hadn’t scolded him at all. And he was going to soften up the enemy troops before Farooq’s people went in. “Understood.” The Janissary commander had a broad smile on his face as he resumed his advance.

  The missiles were long and sleek, designed for maximum efficiency in an atmosphere. They streaked along at 20 times the speed of sound, low to the ground, just above the tops of the rolling hills that covered the area. To the troops below they looked like flashes of light ripping through the sky.

  There were hundreds of them…almost a thousand, launched from the rear areas of Cain’s army. They were short-ranged…their forward heat shields wouldn’t last long at such intense velocity. Their massive acceleration and high speed were their primary defenses, reducing the amount of time they would be exposed to enemy fire before they reached their targets.

  Cain watched the strike on the large display in his command post. It would take the drones less than 20 seconds to reach their target area, and they’d covered about half the distance when the enemy defensive fired started. The PBS drones were too fast to be intercepted with missiles…there wasn’t time to react and get them in the air, even for the robots of the First Imperium. But the enemy particle accelerators ripped into the formation, knocking dozens out of the sky. The energy weapons were much weaker in an atmosphere than in space, but they were strong enough to take out missiles at close range. The drones closed quickly, but the AI-directed enemy forces managed to fill the air with high velocity projectiles as well, disintegrating hundreds of the approaching weapons.

  Cain watched silently, grateful that he was seeing unmanned missiles being blown to bits and not brave pilots he’d ordered into the maelstrom. He couldn’t help but be impressed by how many drones the enemy managed to take out in just a few seconds. But they couldn’t get all of them…not even close. Cain had sent in most of his ordnance in one massive attack. He needed the firepower. He had to push the enemy, force them to commit all of their reserves. Then he could begin the final fight.

  The drones weren’t normal missiles; they didn’t arc down to hit enemy targets or explode in an airburst. They simply continued across the battlefield, releasing their PBS modules as they did. The missiles themselves would continue on their trajectories until their heat shields gave out and they were incinerated. By then they would have dropped their deadly ordnance on the enemy formations below.

  Cain had seen a plasma bombardment up close, and he knew the fury the white plumes on his display represented. The weapons would sweep away virtually anything that was caught in the area of effect. But the superheated plasmas would penetrate into trenches as well and incinerate dug in forces. He flipped his com on as he watched. I wonder, he thought with sadistic satisfaction, if there has ever been a more perfect weapon to precede an assault?

  “Cooper…Cain here.” His voice was predatory, displaying his hatred of the enemy, his lust to destroy them by the thousands. The battle had looked as if it was about to settle into a stalemate, two dug in forces facing each other across a sort of no man’s land. Then the enemy attacked in force, pushing Brown’s people back, threatening to break the lines. But Erik Cain wasn’t about to let that happen, and his PBS bombardment had stopped the enemy dead in its tracks. Now it was time to turn the tide, put the pressure back on the enemy. “Get your people ready, Coop…you may begin your attack in three minutes.”

  Cooper Brown hunkered down in a trench on the very edge of hell itself. The intensity of the maelstrom Cain had just unleashed was like nothing he’d ever seen…or even dreamed in his worst nightmares. The thought of his battered forces advancing across that tortured field was inconceivable. He’d never imagined ordering men and women to advance into anything like that. But he’d never served under Erik Cain fighting against the First Imperium before this either.

  “All units, prepare to commence assault.” He was clammy and sweaty, and his hands were shaking…as much as they could inside armor. His head pounded, the dull ache making it hard to focus. He punched the small button under his index finger and felt the pinprick as his suit injected another stim. He could have asked the AI, but he had a feeling it was about to start arguing with him, telling him he’d had enough already. After everything Cooper Brown had been through, if he wanted a motherfucking stimulant, the last thing he was going to do was fight with some machine to get it. “We’re going over the top in two minutes.”

  He was proud of his Marines, though it was hard to think of them as his exactly. They were all veterans, and most of them had been fighting the enemy while Brown was hiding in a cave deciding how hungry the terrified civilians of Adelaide would get each day.

  I should never have left the Corps, he thought grimly as he monitored the acknowledgements coming in from his companies. Brown had been troubled after the Third Frontier War, torn between his allegiance to the Marines and his growing hatred for the Alliance government. As devoted as he was to the Corps, he felt he had to leave. Rebellion was coming, he knew that much, and he was deathly afraid the Marines would be used to suppress the insurrections. Rather than risk being a part of that, he chose to retire and take command of Adelaide’s militia.

  I underestimated men like Elias Holm and Erik Cain, he thought. When revolution finally came, the Corps didn’t fire a shot at the rebels and, in the end, detachments of Marines intervened in favor of the independence movements. I should have had faith, he thought…I should have stayed. But now I’m back. I can either wallow in misery and self-pity…or I can act like a Marine and live up to what these men and women deserve in a commander.

  “One minute.” He spoke into the com, his voice louder, stronger. It was time…and he knew it. He understood, and he knew the path he had to take now. He pulled the lever and listened to the loud click as the autoloader slammed a clip into his rifle. “Thirty seconds, people.” His voice was booming, the weakness and regret draining away, shoved back into the deep recesses of his mind. He knew he’d have to face them again one day, but not now…now his Marines needed him, all of him. “Let’s do this, Marines. General Cain is counting on us.”

  He watched the chronometer count down…ten seconds…five… “Alright 9th Regiment…attack!” He lunged himself hard over the edge of the trench, stumbling forward, almost tripping, struggling to regain his balance. It had been a long time since he’d fought in powered armor, and his reflexes were rusty. You had to be careful not to let your excitement – or the stims – push your arms or legs too hard. The suit’s servo-mechanicals were extremely powerful, and they needed to be managed carefully. Otherwise you could end up flopping to the ground…or leaping high into the air, giving the enemy a juicy target.

  He pulled himself upright…and he almost stopped dead, his mind momentarily blank as he truly saw the devastation before him. The plain was flat, almost featureless now. There wasn’t an enemy bot to be found, nor a patch of grass or a tree. Even the smaller rocks were gone, melted by the massive heat of the plasmas. The entire field looked like a candle that had completely melted and had solidified wherever the wax had flowed. It
was one monochromatic shade of brown, the combined colors of everything that had been on that hillside when the plasmas erupted.

  “AI…scanning report on the field. Is that rock solidified yet?” Brown had been encouraged to name his new AI, but it hadn’t seemed terribly important to him, and he hadn’t gotten around to it.

  “Yes, Colonel Brown. The rock temperature is currently in a range of 600-800 degrees. Your forces may encounter scattered tackiness on the ground where there are localized densities of lower melting point materials, however it is moderately safe for transit by armored personnel.”

  Brown shook his head, wondering, does Erik Cain know everything? His attack timing was perfect. Even a minute earlier would have been too soon…and any later would have given enemy reserves time to start advancing.

  He glanced at his display as he started forward again. His lead elements were almost a half a klick ahead of him, meeting no resistance. In another two minutes they’d reach the enemy line…and slice right through it. Brown picked up the pace, following his front lines forward, his excitement building. There was one word in his mind. Breakthrough.

  Chapter 19

  East Ward

  Washbalt Metroplex

  US Region, Western Alliance, Earth

  Alex Linden was groggy, not sure where she was. This was no normal sleep she was coming out of…even in her addled state she knew immediately that she’d been drugged. Whatever it was someone had slipped her, she had one hell of a headache.

  She tried to roll over, but she recoiled in pain. She looked down at her leg, seeing the blood even through her blurred vision. She panicked for an instant, but then she realized it was just a cut, deep but not too large. She’d rolled onto a jagged shard of metal in her stupor.