Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  “And then when the enemy has landed, we will release the Omega units from the bunkers…and we will surround and destroy the invaders.” Calman’s tone was powerful, confident…mostly, at least. But there was something else there too, well-hidden but still detectable. Fear.

  Any man would have felt fear. The Black Eagles were coming.

  Chapter 23

  Atlantian Capitol

  Planet Atlantia, Epsilon Indi II

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “The funds have arrived, Mr. President…and they have been distributed as you instructed.” Asha Mazeri sat across the desk from Armando DeSilva. Her tone was pleasant, respectful, but DeSilva could see there was tension beneath her demeanor.

  Well, it’s not every day you launch a coup…

  Still, he’d never seen her so edgy before. She’d always been remarkably calm, whatever the situation.

  She must be under pressure to get this done. Who does she really work for? What have I gotten myself into?

  “Very well, Asha. We shall proceed as scheduled.” DeSilva felt acid in his stomach. He was attempting to remain calm, at least outwardly, but in truth he was scared to death. The people of Atlantia were disinterested politically, and he had used that to great effect over the years to maintain his power. His propaganda ministry had worked tirelessly to portray his administration in the most appealing terms…and it had put just as much effort into discrediting potential adversaries.

  But that success had begun to wane. The people ignored the imposition of new laws when they were first enacted, accepting at face value the claims they were necessary and beneficial. More recently, though, signs of discontent had become widespread…and DeSilva feared his next election would be his most difficult. And if he lost, everything he built would fall apart. He controlled the law enforcement agencies and the entire justice system, and he’d used it to terrorize his enemies and enhance his own power. But if he lost his grip on the instruments of government power…

  No, it was unthinkable. DeSilva lived for power, for control. And if he lost, there would be no holding back the investigations. A new Atlantian administration would almost certainly uncover all his misdeeds…and he would find himself in prison instead of sitting at the president’s desk in the Capitol.

  “The operation will begin just before dawn.” The plan was a brilliant one, and DeSilva had to admit that Asha had been mostly responsible for its development. He’d initially planned a straight out coup, but Mazeri had urged him to consider something more elegant. The Atlantians were a crusty lot, by and large, and while they often ignored politics to their detriment, they were likely to react violently to any attempt to seize absolute power. The operation needed cover, she had argued, something that would deflect the peoples’ attention…and stall opposition to his power grab. If it was done right, she had said, the people will embrace it. DeSilva had been shocked when she’d first suggested the idea, but the more he considered it, the better it sounded. There would be more casualties of course, but that was of little account.

  “Very well, Mr. President. I shall see to everything on my end. And this time tomorrow, you will be the absolute and unchallenged ruler of Atlantia.”

  DeSilva smiled. He liked how that sounded.

  * * * * *

  Buck Tomlinson walked slowly down the street, enjoying the cool morning. Tomlinson was an early riser…he always had been. He loved this time of day, the quiet, the chill in the air streaming in from the sea. In another hour the streets would begin to fill, the people of Eastport moving to jobs and heading toward the markets.

  The town was the planet’s third largest, but that meant little on a world as rural as Atlantia. There were perhaps 10,000 residents, including a fairly large community of retired Marines, attracted by the beauty of Atlantia’s rocky coastline—and the fact that Erik and Sarah Cain had chosen the ocean world as their home after retirement.

  Tomlinson was a veteran himself. He’d been one of Erik Cain’s Marines in the Shadow Wars, though as a private he’d never met the legendary general in person, not until he’d followed him to retirement on Atlantia. In the small town culture of ocean world, Tomlinson encountered Cain many times, and the two had even played cards on several occasions. Tomlinson had gone back to war with the general during the Second Incursion—and he bitterly mourned Cain’s death in that conflict.

  He walked toward the small square that overlooked the harbor, taking his usual seat at the café just a few steps from the water’s edge. He took a deep breath. He’d lived on Atlantia for more than thirty years now, and he still hadn’t gotten over the freshness of the sea breeze. He smiled as the café’s proprietor walked over.

  “Buck…nice morning, isn’t it? You want your usual?”

  “Magnificent, my friend. A great day to be alive.” He paused, looking out over the calm waters of the harbor. “Yes, Bill, the usual.” He’d ordered the same breakfast every day for at least ten years…and every day, Bill Wentz still asked him if that’s what he wanted.

  Wentz nodded and turned to walk back inside.

  “Bill, what is that?”

  Wentz turned abruptly. “What is what?”

  “That transport parked next to the dock. Have you ever seen it before?”

  Tomlinson knew it was the kind of thing people made fun of in small towns, but the truth was he knew almost everyone in Eastport, and there was something out of place about the large black truck.

  “Can’t say that I have, Buck. But what’s of it? Just a truck someone left there.”

  “At this hour?” Tomlinson stood up. “I’m just gonna have a quick look.”

  Wentz made a face. “Whatever you feel like, Buck. I’ll get your breakfast.”

  Tomlinson turned and walked toward the truck. It was black, with no windows. He tested the doors, and they were locked. He knew it was probably nothing, but he had a strange feeling…a kind of foreboding. The type of thing he’d experienced on the battlefield, when a bombardment or attack was about to commence.

  He had an odd thought, wondering what Erik Cain would have said. The image of his old general was still in his head when it happened. There was a flash, so quick he had no time to even acknowledge it. Then he was consumed instantly, vaporized in the nuclear fire.

  * * * * *

  Armed men filled the streets in front of the Capitol, just as they were doing in every other city across Atlantia. Everything seemed like a normal response to a terrorist attack, and few noticed that many of the detachments were moving into residential neighborhoods, breaking into houses and taking away their occupants.

  In each place, where screaming families were shoved roughly into unmarked black transports, neighbors looked on, wondering with a chill if they’d had terrorists and radical supporters living so near. They applauded the raids, shouted their support to the law enforcement authorities they were sure were reacting to the horrifying events of that morning. Images from Eastport had dominated the news coverage. There were thousands dead in the nuclear blast, and the town itself had been wiped away. It was a horror the quiet people of Atlantia could hardly comprehend. And they cried out to find and punish those responsible.

  But those arrested had nothing to do with terrorism. They were, rather, the citizens deemed most likely to resist increased government control, to question too pointedly the reaction to the Eastport attack. They protested their innocence, even as they were dragged away, but no one listened. Atlantia was in a frenzy, and accusation equaled guilt in the minds of most.

  Hundreds were arrested, all across Atlantia. Some were taken to special prisons, the ones suspected of having information on other potential resistance. They were destined for very aggressive—and unpleasant—questioning. But most of those arrested were driven directly to government facilities in remote areas. They were unloaded and herded into dark basements and concrete warehouses. One by one, they were pushed down to their knees…and an officer moved behind them, firing a single shot in
to each of their heads. There were no trials, no formalities, no appeals. DeSilva had decided to move quickly, to sweep away all potential resistance while Atlantians were focused on the attack.

  Whole families had been arrested, and they went together into those terrible execution chambers, even the children. Pleas for mercy were ignored, even for the youngest present, who swiftly followed their parents into death.

  The executioners were clad in Atlantian police uniforms, but many of them spoke with strange accents…and none of the unfortunates executed that day ever knew the men who murdered them were not Atlantians at all, but operatives of Asha Mazeri’s organization…and the allies of Atlantia’s president.

  * * * * *

  “My fellow Atlantians, it is with a heavy heart that I now address you all.” DeSilva wore a black suit, perfectly-pressed, and he spoke with a strong and clear voice, edged quite deliberately with a touch of both sadness and anger.

  “Our world has just experienced the greatest tragedy in its history, an atrocity of immense proportions. Over ten thousand of our neighbors and friends are dead, killed by cowards and murderers…villains who have lived among us, nurturing their hatred and their radical agendas. I can say nothing that will help the thousands of our friends and neighbors who were killed, nor can I ease the pain we all feel. Nothing can do that, and I fear we will long grieve for those lost.” His voice deepened, took on an ominous tone.

  “But I can assure all of you that those who have committed this terrible act will pay for it. Already, arrests have been made…and it has become clear that a terrible cancer has grown in our great society. It is difficult to imagine such evil, and worse to think of it existing all around us, but such is the case. And as your president, I swear now that I will see that everyone involved in this horror is held accountable.”

  DeSilva gripped the edges of the podium and sucked in a deep breath, pausing as if he was fighting back a wave of sorrow.

  “Our arrests have already begun to provide us information, and I regret to tell you all that we have found evidence of other plots planned or underway. I promise you now, each and every law-abiding citizen of Atlantia, that I will not rest until we have uncovered every root and branch of this evil, and I can step up to this podium and assure you all that there is no more to fear.

  “But that day is not today, and now I must take the necessary steps to ensure the safety of Atlantia and its citizens. Effective immediately, martial law is declared. All assemblies of more than three people are prohibited. Enhanced surveillance protocols will be in effect. All elections, both local and national are hereby postponed indefinitely…

  * * * * *

  “It is done.” Asha Mazeri was alone, her room dark save for the small light on the com unit’s display. “Everything has gone according to plan.”

  “That is good, Agent Mazeri. I am most pleased to hear this. Your involvement in the debacle with the Carlyle was of great concern to us. However, the successful delivery of Atlantia to our control is likely to pardon your earlier failure and restore your fortune.”

  “Thank you, sir. I can assure you that Atlantia is ours.”

  “Contact us again in three days with an update.” As usual, the com went dead immediately.

  Asha breathed hard. She felt a cold feeling in her stomach. She’d been terrified every moment since the botched operation involving the STUs, and every sound had filled her with the terror that her assassins had arrived. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that any failure on Atlantia would be her last. The Black Flag did not easily forgive. Its demands were great, as were its rewards. Asha felt relief, but she also worried about her control over DeSilva. She had influence, certainly, but he was a loose cannon. She had handed him enormous power, and she was concerned how he would handle it. Would he be as pliable to her suggestions now as he had been? Or would he feel he didn’t need her as before?

  That, she knew, would be a fatal mistake for DeSilva. The Black Flag could easily kill the president and replace him with a more pliable figure. But that would be her end as well. Indeed, DeSilva’s unpredictability wasn’t a real danger to Black Flag control of Atlantia. She had placed agents throughout the new government, even in the president’s security detail. The Black Flag could kill DeSilva with a single command. But another failure—and the need to bring in outside assistance—would be her end. She was sure of that.

  She sighed and stood up, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t seduced DeSilva yet. She’d planned to, but something had told her to keep some powder dry.

  Perhaps now is the time. I must do everything I can to maintain my control.

  She reached up and undid two buttons on her shirt, wiggling around a bit until she thought she looked her best. Time to congratulate the president…

  Chapter 24

  Main Assault Bay

  Eagle One

  Orbiting Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “Darius, you can’t do this.” Erik Teller stood amid the controlled chaos of Eagle One’s assault bay. Around him, hundreds of Black Eagles—combat units mostly, but also technicians, launch coordinators, and a dozen other types of support personnel—bustled around, performing their duties with a level of efficiency no other combat unit could hope to match. The noise was almost deafening, but a close inspection revealed that the entire swirling mass was a perfect image of organization.

  “I have to, Erik.” Darius Cain stared back at his oldest friend and second-in-command. “And you know it.” Cain’s voice was calm, measured. But anyone who knew him understood just how stubborn he truly was. There was probably something in the galaxy more difficult than getting Darius Cain to back down once he’d made a decision, but it wasn’t anything that came to mind easily.

  “But once we secure the planet…”

  “Erik, stop. Don’t play dumb with me even if it is the only way you can make your argument. Nobody knows how smart you really are like I do. If my father is still alive—and yes, I realize that’s a huge ‘if’—I have to go after him immediately. Taking the planet, defeating whatever they have waiting to trap and destroy us, will require time. And it only takes a second to put a bullet in a prisoner’s head.” He turned toward his armor hanging on the rack against the wall, but then he paused and looked back. “You know I have to take them by surprise, do anything I can…”

  Teller’s face was twisted into an uncomfortable frown. Darius was aware of his friend’s concern, both on a personal level and as the Eagle’s executive officer. But he also knew Teller truly understood, in a deeply personal way. Both men had lost their fathers in the war history had come to call the Second Incursion. But James Teller had been gunned down leading a desperate assault…and he’d died in front of three hundred of his own troops. There was no mystery, no nagging doubt about what had happened to him. But Erik Cain had been presumed dead in the destruction of the ship carrying him home. And now it looked like he might have survived, at least for some time after his reported death.

  Finally, Teller just nodded. “I understand. But what about the Eagles? The assault? We need you.”

  “The assault is planned out to the last decimal…and you can lead the main effort as well as I can.” He hesitated, then before Teller could object he added, “And don’t give me any nonsense that isn’t the case. Because we both know it is.”

  Teller didn’t answer for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “I’m just nervous, Darius. We both know this is a trap. And there has to be some relationship with what happened on Lysandria and Eris. Even the disappearance of the lost platoon on Karelia.” He paused. “We shouldn’t underestimate whoever this is we’re facing.”

  Darius stared hard into his friend’s eyes. “I don’t underestimate them, Erik. This will probably be the hardest battle we have fought…which is why I have obsessed over every detail. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make us as strong as possible. But you in HQ is the same thing as me in HQ. We b
uilt the Eagles together, old friend, and there is no one in the galaxy I trust as much as I do you. I’ve had a million doubts about this operation, but your role in it has never been one of them.”

  Teller stood still for a moment, and he even managed to force a brief grin of sorts in response to Darius’ praise. But his expression darkened again, and he said, “Still, you know what a crazy risk you are taking. You’ll be in the middle of the enemy’s stronghold while a war rages all around you.”

  “I won’t be alone. I’ll have the Teams with me.”

  Teller frowned. “Two hundred of you…against a planet’s armies? Deep in their largest stronghold?”

  “Our two hundred best, Erik. And every one of them a volunteer.” Darius had asked his troops from the Special Action Teams to join him in a raid intended to find and extract his father from captivity. It was a breathtakingly dangerous plan, made worse by the almost total lack of intel on Erik Cain’s location…or even any idea if he was truly still alive. Darius had felt guilty asking any of his people to join him, and he’d been stunned when every single member of the teams had not only volunteered, but had outright demanded to go…with such intensity he suspected he’d have faced the first mutiny in Eagles’ history if he’d refused to take them all. Darius had been almost speechless, touched deeply by the devotion of his soldiers.

  “We’re not two hundred taking on all their armies…the entire Black Eagles corps is fighting here, not just a force of special operators. And when we’re through, whoever is behind this trap won’t know what hit them.” Darius realized he had slipped into his rally mode, the persona he adopted in battle to inspire his troops. He was surprised, as he often was, at just how effective his words often were…even with a grizzled veteran like his second-in-command.

  Teller just nodded, but Darius could see the jolt he’d given to his friend, the blast of confidence. Erik Teller was a brilliant tactician, and not a single fact about the operation had changed. But Darius could see Teller was more energized. Ready to do what had to be done.