by Jay Allan
She looked at him for a few seconds, and he could see from her face she was confused by her own inconsistent thoughts. Finally, she just nodded. “I will go.”
* * * * *
“Black Eagles, I am speaking to all of you, as a group, and also as the thousands of individuals you are, for this is something each of you must decide for yourselves. We have come together, outcasts mostly, refugees, political fugitives, the castoffs of a hundred worlds…and together we have become the most formidable fighting force mankind has ever known.” Darius stood at a small podium in one of the landing bays. The soldiers of the Teams were deployed before him, and the rest of his veteran warriors were watching on their screens, from the wardrooms, duty posts, even their quarters. Every Black Eagle was listening with rapt attention to what their leader had to say.
“I will be leaving the Nest shortly, to lead another mission, a planetary invasion that, to me, is the most important we have ever undertaken. But it is not like the others, for we have not been hired by a combatant government, nor will this fight be the culmination of an existing political conflict. My reasons for this assault are personal, and its purpose is to free a prisoner…or extract vengeance for that captive’s death if I should find he had been slain.” His voice was cold, as frigid as that army of grizzled veterans had ever heard from their commander.
“I will not order any Black Eagle to join me in this mission. You did not become part of this organization to serve the needs of one man, even your commanding general. The Eagles are a brotherhood, and we fight for each other, not the needs of any one man. So you must each decide, will you come with me or will you stay behind? There is no paymaster on this mission, no great riches to be won, but I will cover the costs and wages of all those who join me from my own resources.”
He paused again, and when he continued, his voice was somber, his words slower. “Before you decide, know this. The information that has led me to launch this invasion was deliberately sent, presumably to provoke exactly this action on my part. Again, I say, listen to me, and take this to heart when you decide what course of action to take. The attack force will almost certainly move right into a trap, one no doubt devised by the mysterious enemy we faced on Lysandria…and again on Eris. We have almost no solid data about them, but we know they are out there…and with this most recent series of events, I have come to believe they have targeted the Black Eagles, and that this is all part of their effort to destroy us. But, I say loudly, for all to hear, others have tried to defeat the Eagles, and none have succeeded. And all who have tried now lay buried under the ruins and dust of their worlds. The Eagles are not so easily vanquished, and I will go to the planet Eldaron, with any of you who will come with me, and together we will prove this. Whatever trap has been set, we shall turn on our enemy. We will show them the true strength and power of the Black Eagles.”
He hesitated again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “This is a sacred quest for me, for I believe the prisoner of Eldaron is none other than General Erik Cain…my father. He has been thought dead for many years, but I have reason to believe he survived the destruction of his ship so long ago…” His voice hardened, a barely-contained rage energizing every word he spoke. “…that he was held prisoner, indeed that he may still be alive, a captive in some Eldari cell.”
Thoughts of his father held prisoner, tortured, alone for so many years drifted through his mind…images of the wreck of Erik Cain, imaginings of what years of helplessness would have done to so independent and defiant a man. And with each mental picture his anger grew, a swirling cloud, like the birth of a star, an elemental fury almost unimaginable.
“I will go to Eldaron, alone if I must. And all who join me will have my undying gratitude. But those who feel this is not their fight, who do not wish to walk wide-eyed into a trap…there is no shame in this, nor will I hold it against anyone. We are brothers and sisters now, and so we shall remain if I return. And if I do not come back, if this mission claims me, then the Eagles will continue, for we are far greater than any one man, than any thousand. No matter what losses we suffer, what tragedies we endure.”
He took a deep breath. “So think, my comrades. Hear what I have said, and consider deeply the deadly dangers of this mission. Then make your choice. Log into your accounts on the network, and enter your decision.” A pause. “Today. For this operation must be dispatched as quickly as possible, and preparations begin tomorrow.”
He stared down at the podium for a few seconds, and then he looked back up and added a last comment. “Before I sign off from this address, I would like to add one last thought. Twelve years ago, when we fielded the first ragged company of Black Eagles, I could hardly have imagined where we would end up. There are fourteen left from that first group, men and women who have shared every moment of this wild ride. But an Eagle is an Eagle, and each of you are part of that tradition. You were with us in spirit on that first mission, when we landed one hundred ten bodies on Ventara…and when seventy-nine of us came back. And we are still one…our oldest veterans and our newest additions…and all those lost on our battlefields over the years.”
Another pause. “And we shall always be one…each of us, whether he or she goes to Eldaron with me or not. No matter who or how many return from that world. As long as one of us endures, the Eagles will never truly die. You have all been my life, my comrades. I say to all of you now, fare thee well, whatever comes next. And never forget…never forget…that you are a Black Eagle.”
* * * * *
“Have you tallied the results yet?” Darius Cain walked into the large but Spartan office of his second-in-command.
“Yes,” Erik Teller replied. “And you’re not going to believe it.”
Cain stopped and turned toward his friend. “Bad? I was hoping at least half would come with me…but I guess asking people to walk into a trap with you is a heavy lift…”
“It’s almost unanimous, Darius. More than ninety-nine percent.”
Cain sighed softly and looked down at the floor. “I thought at least some of them would come with me…”
Teller smiled. “Darius, they all want to go with you. Almost to a man.”
“It was ninety-nine percent to go?” Darius was genuinely surprised, and it cut through his normal discipline. “I never imagined…”
“They would follow you into hell, my friend…and so would I.”
“No,” Cain said flatly. “You have to stay here and command the Nest.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. The two of us have gone on every major mission. The Nest is perfectly fine with its permanent staff.”
“I need you to stay behind, Erik. This mission is different…”
“No…it’s not different. It’s exactly the same.” Teller paused, staring at his friend for a few seconds before he continued. “And you are more to me than even a brother. I’ve known your father as long as I have conscious memories, Darius. He was like another parent to me. I was named after him.” Another pause, as he fought to keep the emotion from his voice. “And my father fought in the Second Incursion too…and he didn’t come back either. But I know he is dead. They brought back a body…I saw it. But if there is a chance your father is alive…”
“What about the Eagles, Erik? What if I am leading them to their destruction? This enemy is powerful…you know that. And we know nothing about them. I never imagined the entire corps would volunteer to come. Maybe I should only take half.”
“I understand your concern, Darius, but you are wrong. You can’t save the Eagles by making them something they are not. The men and women know that…that’s why they all voted to go with you. If you make half of them stay behind, order them to sit idly by while their comrades, the brothers and sisters who have fought at their sides in a dozen battles, leave to face the greatest struggle of their lives, you will destroy them…in a way far more complete than honest death in battle. Would you leave them knowing they let half our number go off to fight, weaker for their absenc
e? To wonder for the rest of their lives if their friends and comrades would have survived had they been at their sides? Is that what you think you have instilled in them after so many years?”
“But what if I lead them all to destruction?” Darius’ voice was nervous, uncertain, emotions he rarely displayed.
“Then we will fight our last battle…together, like the brothers in arms we are. Though I do not believe there is anything on Eldaron that can destroy us, whatever the Tyrant may have convinced himself.” Teller stood up and walked toward Cain, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We are with you, Darius. All of us. And together we will go to Eldaron, and find out what happened to your father…and God help anyone there planning to trap us. We will show them what the Black Eagles can do.”
Chapter 16
Confederation HQ
Beneath the Ruins of the Ares Metroplex
Planet Mars, Sol IV
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
“Roderick, I understand your hesitancy. I know you are uncomfortable with what you had to do…if you weren’t that sort of man, you’d have found me on the other side of your coup. But we all did what we agreed was necessary, and you cannot afford to be indecisive now. You did what you did to save Mars…and you will fail in that effort if you do not command forcefully. All of this will be for nothing.”
Vance leaned back in his chair, silent, hearing Astor’s words but not quite processing them fully. He’d tread as softly as he could since the coup, imprisoning only those he had to, and most of them under house arrest or in commandeered hotel rooms. Only a few, like Boris Vallen, languished in true prison cells.
But the thirty-two men and four women his people now held in custody now were different. They had attempted their own counter-revolt, one that was quickly defeated, but not before almost three-hundred civilians had been killed or wounded in the fighting.
“Thirty-six executions? Is that what you think we need?” Vance looked up at his senior general.
“Yes, Roderick. That’s exactly what we need. And you know it.” Astor paused. “You’re letting your guilt at seizing power interfere with your judgment. Innocent people are dead because of this failed revolt. Almost two hundred are in the hospital. This isn’t about going after political rivals. It’s about punishing a group of murderers.”
“Who did the same thing I did…just less successfully.”
“That’s horsecrap, Roderick, and you know it. If these were purists, democratic zealots trying to overturn your regime and restore the council…that would be bad too, but it would be different. And perhaps there would be cause for clemency. But that’s not what happened here. This was an attempt to seize power…by a small group of mostly wealthy individual for their own personal gain. There is no ideology here, no cause of freedom. Just a group of criminals and traitors…who need to mount the scaffold.”
“Perhaps…”
“There is no perhaps, Roderick. You planned your takeover because you knew it was necessary…and we all backed you. Now, you must follow through. You must lead. You owe it to those of us who risked all to aid you. You owe it to Mars.” Astor glared at Vance, his frown expressing both frustration and understanding.
“I know you’re right, Arch. I lived through the Shadow War and both struggles with the First Imperium. And my gut tells me this new enemy is going to be at least as bad. Unless I am very wrong, thousands will die—millions—and I will send our soldiers and naval crews to their deaths in battle. I won’t like it, and I will live with the memories for the rest of my life.” He paused briefly. Still, unilaterally pronouncing death sentences on thirty-six Martian civilians…” His voice trailed off.
“It is your responsibility now, Roderick. I don’t question the pressure of your position, the guilt and doubt and worry it must carry with it. But you took it, and now you are the sole authority in the Martian Confederation.” Astor paused, staring at Vance while he took a deep breath. “You must use that authority, and you must not allow doubt to deter you from what you know is necessary.”
Vance sat still for a moment, and then he just nodded.
I know you’re right, Arch. I just don’t know if I can do it…
* * * * *
“Where is he?” Xavier Melander sat on one end of the long sofa, his head turned, looking down at his companions.
“He’s in his office, Xavier.” Archibald Astor’s voice was soft, subdued. He’d gotten through to Vance, convinced him he had no choice. And in five minutes, thirty-six men and women would die…they would die because Roderick Vance had ordered it. Astor knew he had convinced Mars’ dictator, but in the end, the responsibility for the act would always lay with the man who had the power. And that man had made it quite clear he wanted to be alone.
“I’ve known him for a long time, longer even than most of you. He was colder when he was young, quicker to do whatever was necessary. I daresay, the thirty-five year old Roderick Vance would have ordered these executions without hesitation.” “But he has seen too many things, borne the guilt for too many dead. He is a different man now…probably a better one, yet I fear it will make what he must do more difficult for him to accept.” Andre Girard was old. He looked to be in his mid-seventies, but that was illusion, the result of an active life and fortunate genes—as well as the rejuv treatments he’d received his entire adult life. He was actually one hundred eight years of age, and he’d been one of Vance’s top agents during the First Imperium and Shadow wars. He’d been retired shortly after the Fall, but he’d gone to Earth the year before at Vance’s request, to check out the status of the Jericho settlement without the knowledge of the council. What Girard had found, and the survivors he’d brought back with him, had been the beginning of the sequence of events that culminated with Vance’s coup.
“I’m afraid you are right, Mr. Girard.” Duncan Campbell was sitting off to the side, in a large chair. His eyes had been on the large screen, watching the coverage of the imminent executions, but now he turned toward the others. “We must look to support him…and guide him. Roderick Vance is a good man, and that is a rare thing. But though he must lead through this crisis and command all authority himself, I believe we also have an obligation in this. We must support him, and as General Astor did in this circumstance, guide and advise him. We must not allow him to carry the load by himself. I fear it is more than any man can bear.”
“Agreed,” Melander said, nodding his head as he did. “The four of us will work together. We are promised to Roderick’s service already, but we will go beyond normal duty. We will add our strength to his, do whatever is necessary to ensure that the Confederation survives this crisis. Because I believe with all my heart that when Mars is again safe, Roderick Vance will lay down his power as promised and reconstitute the ruling council.” He paused, and then he extended a hand. “Are we agreed?”
Girard was the first to respond. The old spy leapt from his seat and leaned forward, placing his hand on top of Melander’s. Duncan Campbell followed suit, placing his own palm atop Girard’s.
Archibald Astor watched with a smile for a few seconds. Then he stood up and walked over. “I am proud of you all…and I am with you. Whatever it takes. Whatever we must do to prevail in this.”
On the screen behind them, a man stood before a firing squad, his hands shackled to the wall above his head. The sound on the display was muted, but it was obvious he was shouting, begging for clemency. He stood there for a few seconds, no more than ten, struggling with his shackles, his face covered with tears. Then his body tensed and slumped forward, held up only by the chains bolted to the wall.
The four men turned and their eyes were fixed on the flickering screen as two soldiers unlocked the shackles and carried the body away. They all stood silently and watched, unmoving as the scene was replayed over and over…thirty-five more times.
* * * * *
Vance looked down the length of the table. “Good morning, gentlemen. We have much to plan, and litt
le time. Let us begin, shall we?”
Vance’s voice was coolly professional, with no hint of emotion or guilt. Everyone present knew that didn’t mean Mars’ dictator didn’t feel those emotions, but it was clear he had put them in their place. Vance had spent the previous night alone in his residence, and he’d given himself few hours to work out the self-pity and remorse. He had never been much of a drinker, aside from his well-known weakness for fine wines, but he’d gone well beyond a bottle of pre-Blight Bordeaux or an Arcadian Pinot Noir, engaging in what was commonly called, an all-out drunk. But one night was all the time he had to numb the pain, and he’d greeted the morning with a frigid shower and a renewed determination to do what had to be done.
The four men at the table nodded their assent. They had a variety of expressions on their faces, with varying degrees of surprise at Vance’s demeanor. Girard was the only one with a deadpan expression, as if he was seeing in Vance exactly what he had expected, the resolution and strength he had come to expect from his friend.
“Very well…first, let us look to military readiness. We do not know what we face, but the base on Eris was strong and well-defended. The Black Eagles were able to take it, but they had a considerable fight on their hands, and that tells me we’d best be prepared for war. As prepared as we can possibly make ourselves.” He looked over at Astor. “Arch, I want you to call up all the reserves, anyone who has had any service with the army or Marines.”
Astor nodded. “Yes, sir.” There was something in his voice, a thread of concern.
