by Jay Allan
And the Triumvirate will know how badly my soldiers performed…how unready we were for the Eagles. His mind was lost in a sea of fear, and he knew the promise of ruling so many worlds had already fizzled into the mist. He’d be lucky to keep Eldaron. He’d be lucky to keep his head.
“Your Excellency, we’re receiving reports from the lower levels. Darius Cain and his soldiers are on the move out of the detention area.”
“Where are they heading?”
“Toward the infirmary, Excellency.”
The Tyrant felt another flush of anger. If I find out who talked down there…
“Alert Force Black,” he said. They are to engage the Eagles at once.” Force Black consisted of the pick of his personal guard, the eight hundred best soldiers on Eldaron. “I want the Eagles stopped before they get to the infirmary.” He paused. “At all costs,” he said, his every word an implicit threat.
“Yes, Excellency. Colonel Vialle reports Force Black is already deployed and ready to attack.”
“Then they are ordered to proceed…and destroy Darius Cain for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Tyrant leaned back in his chair. His guards were in place, and they knew every centimeter of those tunnels. They were positioned at every intersection, every place they could get a field of fire on the approaching invaders. They outnumbered the Eagle force four to one. There was no way Darius Cain would get to the infirmary. No way.
Still, he felt a tension in his stomach, a nagging feeling that poked at him. There was no way the Eagles should be able to get through. But still…
“Captain Mieren?”
“Excellency!” The captain of the Tyrant’s guard stepped out from his place along the wall and snapped to attention.
“I don’t want to take any chances, Captain. Too much unexpected has happened already.” And the Eagles are here…and fully engaged. No sense being careless.
“I have a job I want you to handle personally, Captain.”
“I am yours to command, your Excellency.”
“Go down to the infirmary…and kill the prisoner for me. Immediately.”
“Sir!” The Captain clicked his heels and saluted. Then he turned and moved toward the exit.
No, Darius Cain, you will not get the better of me…no matter how fiercely your soldiers for hire fight…
Chapter 35
325 Million Kilometers from Planet Eldaron
Denebola System
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
“Eagle Four’s reactor is down again, Admiral. She’s bleeding atmosphere, and Captain Lorne reports he’s not sure how long he can keep life support and basic backups functioning.”
Allegre felt the words, like crushing blows from an enemy pounding into his chest. He’d never even been close to losing a ship in his time with the Eagles, but his thoughts were back farther than that now, to the deadly struggles of his youth. Ships died by the dozens in those terrible struggles…by the hundreds. He could still remember the voices of the com officers making the reports they knew would be their last…
“Advise Captain Lorne he is to take all steps possible to restart the reactor, at least long enough to get Eagle Four out of the line.”
The line? You don’t have a line, just ten ships, and five of those are blasted half to scrap. Not that the others are far behind.
The Eagle fleet had fought magnificently, and nearly two dozen enemy ships had been blasted to plasma. But the attackers were just too strong, and fresh ships had come up as quickly as Allegre’s people could destroy those they were facing.
Allegre knew that, man for man, ship for ship, the Eagles were better than their adversaries. But the numbers weren’t equal, not even close, and war in space was enormously dependent upon logistics. Fighting against such a large force had quickly depleted the Eagle ships, making their position increasingly precarious.
First, they expended the last of their missiles…and the enemy reserves still pouring into the system had fresh magazines. Allegre had maneuvered his forces aggressively, struggling to stay in close, to eliminate the enemy superiority in long-ranged weapons. Then he’d sought to use his highly-trained crews to win the battle of maneuver, bringing his vessels in on advantageous vectors. It all helped, but none of it was going to be enough.
Allegre realized his people were going to die, but he had resolved that they would at least die well, fighting to the end. He’d thought, for a passing instant, of making a break for it, trying to extricate his fleet from the doom that was befalling it. But he quickly put the thought out of his mind. Eagles didn’t run, and especially not when they would be leaving thousands of their brethren behind. And it didn’t really matter anymore. His ships were too far from their exit warp gate, too badly battered to make good any escape attempt.
He looked up as Eagle One’s lights dimmed for an instant as her batteries fired again. Her reactor was down to about seventy percent output, and Allegre had ordered priority to the laser cannons. He let his eyes drop toward his screen, watching to see if his flagship’s latest shot had hit.
He felt a wave of excitement, and he looked up to see the bridge crew shaking fists in the air. There was a general shout, a cheer that he didn’t allow himself to join, though he felt the same rush they all did. Eagle One’s laser cannons had torn into one of the largest enemy ships…and a few seconds later the target lost containment and was consumed in the fury of its own fusion reaction.
They may overwhelm us, but they’ll not soon forget the day they fought the Black Eagles…
“Admiral!” There was surprise in the tactical officer’s voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant? Report.”
“Sir, we’ve got more ships transiting.”
Allegre felt the excitement of the last kill drain away. He had been almost sure his people were doomed, but now there was no chance. None at all.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Prepare a nav plan to pull us away from the Betalax-4 warp gate. Maybe we can finish off this task force before the new one can reach us…”
“But, sir…the new transits are coming through the Upsilon-2 gate, not Betalax-4.”
Allegre’s head snapped around.
“Upsilon-2?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Allegre sighed. The Upsilon gate was right on his flank, less than a million kilometers away. Any force coming through there would be in range of his ships in a matter of minutes.
It is over. Nothing to do now but fight until we go down.
“All ships are to maintain maximum fire, Lieutenant.”
It was all he could think to do.
* * * * *
“Colonel, we’re running low on ammunition down here.” Dan Sullivan was crouched down behind a small rock outcropping. He was staring out at the advancing enemy, taking aimed shots…and dropping a target every time he squeezed the trigger. The attack was a big one, and he knew he should be firing on full auto, taking down as many enemies as he could, but he also had an eye on his ammo supply, and he knew he was looking at trouble if he didn’t conserve.
“We’re running low across the line, Dan.” Cyn Kuragina was tough as nails, and she almost never allowed fear or doubt to creep into her voice. But Sullivan could tell immediately she was worried. That means the situation is worse than I thought. A lot worse.
“You’re just going to have to manage with what you’ve got, Dan,” she said, sounding almost apologetic. “I’ll try to get some supplies up there as soon as I can…but when it gets there, you need to know it’s the last you’ll see. At least until the fleet gets back.” There was another hitch in her voice when she mentioned the fleet. Admiral Allegre and his ships had been gone for two days…and there hadn’t been so much as a status report. Everybody was fearing the worst, though no one had yet voiced the concerns verbally.
At least no enemy fleet has shown up and wiped our com network from the sky. Sullivan knew that would be the inevitable result of the fleet’s destruction…and t
he fact that it hadn’t happened was some cause for hope.
“Understood, Colonel.”
“I’m sending you some reinforcements, Dan. Two companies from the second battalion. I wish it was more, but new enemy forces keep emerging from hiding places all around the city. I have to keep something in reserve.”
“Thank you, Colonel. Two companies will be a huge help.” Sullivan knew both of them understood the numbers at play…and just how bad the situation had become. He had taken over command of the battalion when Major Julich was wounded. That had been six hours before, and his people had repulsed three attacks since then. But the support he had expected hadn’t arrived.
Colonel Teller had dispatched the Black Regiment to link up with the White…and launch a counterattack on the enemy’s position. It had been a daring plan, one that defied all military norms…but it also offered the chance to disrupt the enemy rear. A breakthrough would allow Sullivan’s forces to destroy a large amount of the enemy’s supplies, hopefully crippling their offensive capabilities. At least long enough for the Eagles to regain the initiative. But then more enemy troops emerged from hiding, and they launched a flank attack on the Eagles’ overall position. Teller hadn’t had a choice. He cancelled the scheduled attack and sent Falstaff’s Black Regiment to face the new assault. From all Sullivan had heard, the fighting on that front had been even more brutal than on his own.
“Good luck,” Kuragina said. “I’ve got a company and some walking wounded working on a backup defensive line, but it won’t be ready for at least another eight hours, maybe ten.” A pause. “You have to hold until then, Dan. No matter what.”
“Don’t worry, Colonel. We’re Black Eagles. We know what to do.” He swallowed hard. “Sullivan out.”
He ducked and scrambled down the line. Bull Trent had taken over an autocannon after its crew had been killed, and he was manning the weapon alone. Sullivan could see exactly where the veteran was by the swath of dead enemy soldiers lying in the field in front of him. He jogged over behind the non-com.
“Nice shooting, Bull…but I’m gonna have to have you hand that weapon off. I need you for something else.”
“Sir!” Trent snapped back, still firing as he acknowledged his commander’s orders. “Perretti, Horn, get your asses over here and take over this gun.”
Sullivan watched as the two veterans came running over, each of them crouched just enough to stay behind the gentle rise the company was using for cover. They walked up behind Trent, who fired right up until the instant Perretti took the weapon from his armored hands.
“Sergeant Perretti,” Trent barked, emphasizing the rank as he did, “We are low on ammunition, so I expect you to actually aim with this fucking thing, you hear me?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Tony Perretti was a troublemaker, a man who had served years in Eagles yet managed to give back every promotion he’d ever gotten through one form of indiscipline or another. But he was a born soldier too, and his extreme reliability on the field of battle had saved him from expulsion…or discipline more severe than a demotion.
He was Sergeant Perretti now, and he was likely to stay that way. He’d made the mistake of becoming too much of a hero on Lysandria, and Darius Cain himself had put the stripes on his duty uniform. The promotion had come with congratulations…and a warning to cut the shit and accept the responsibility he had earned. Perretti was as tough as they came, and he wasn’t scared of anyone. Except Darius Cain. And Bull Trent. And both of them had spoken.
Trent watched for a few seconds as the two non-coms got the autocannon back in operation. Then he turned and faced Sullivan. “Where do you want me, sir?”
“This is your Tony Perretti moment, Sergeant Trent.” Sullivan was grateful for the helmet that hid his shit-faced grin.
“Sir?”
“With the authorization of Colonel Kuragina, I am herby giving you a field promotion to the rank of lieutenant and placing you in command of the company.”
“But sir…”
“Silence, Lieutenant Trent. I know you have fought this for a long time, but in case you didn’t notice, we’re up to our necks in shit right now. Perretti is doing his duty…and you’re fuck well going to do the same. Do you follow me?”
“Yes, sir.” The voice was sullen, defeated. But there was a spark there too. Sullivan suspected Trent would prove to be as good an officer as he’d always been a non-com. Better, even.
Which was a damned good thing, because it was going to take everything all of them had to survive this fight.
* * * * *
“Get the wounded back,” Darius yelled into the com. “Set up an aid station closer to the detention area. And clear these corridors!”
Cain and his soldiers had been halfway to the infirmary when the attack began. Enemy troops poured down every corridor, and almost immediately, the Eagles were bogged down and fighting off attacks from every direction.
“Yes, General.” Captain Clive was the only surgeon he’d brought with him. Along with two medical techs and half a dozen privates hastily designated as orderlies, he was all that was available to deal with the mounting casualties. The Teams were the best of the best, and they fought with enormous skill and distinction…but they were outnumbered and unfamiliar with the layout of their battlefield. And they knew they had to press on, regardless of position or losses. They had to reach the infirmary. If Erik Cain was truly there, every second was the one the enemy could choose to kill him.
Alcabedo was right next to Darius. As usual…how does he do that?
The bodyguard was firing like a machine, putting a three shot burst into every enemy soldier within view. He’d apparently decided trying to get Darius to stay back was a futile effort, so he took it upon himself to try to blast every enemy that came close to the general.
And Darius had to admit, he’d come quite close to meeting that impossible goal.
Darius lunged forward, firing his own rifle as he did. The enemy soldiers were good…clearly these weren’t standard Eldari levies. But they were no match for the veteran—and fully-powered—Black Eagles. They lost five, six, seven men for every casualty they inflicted, but Darius knew that was a winning trade for them. He had to keep pushing forward, not only to see if his father was there, but to prevent his forces from getting bogged down.
“I want a Team at each intersection or passageway,” he snapped. “We’ve got to keep the line to the detention area open.” He hadn’t intended to allow his forces to get this stretched out, but he’d had no choice. His troops had suffered more than forty casualties. And the wounded couldn’t keep up with the advance.
He moved swiftly down the corridor, and he whipped around the corner, ahead of Alcabedo and the three other Eagles who’d tried to get in front of him. There were three enemy troops there, and they opened fire almost immediately.
Darius dropped low and fire back on full auto. The enemy shots went over his head, the rounds impacting on the rough stone of the walls, sending shards of rock flying in all directions. His own fire was far more accurate, and in an instant the three enemies were down, their bodies torn almost to shreds by his hyper-velocity rounds. There was a brief clicking sound as his autoloader replaced the spent cartridge.
“That should be the infirmary right up ahead,” he said, his com set to the unitwide frequency. “Let’s go!” He ran down the hallway, his rifle in front of him as he did.
He stopped in front of the closed hatch. “Plasma torches,” he yelled.
Two Eagles pushed their way forward, each of them holding a large plasma cutter. They thrust the tools forward, one on each side of the hatch, and they sliced downward, cutting through the hypersteel like a razor slicing a sheet of paper. In a few seconds it was done, and the two of them kicked the door hard, sending it flying into the room beyond.
Darius pushed past the two of them, leaping first into the room. It was reckless, a stunt for which he would have disciplined any of his people. But Darius Cain the military commander had moment
arily lost his control over the persona he now shared with Darius Cain, seventeen year old boy, first hearing his father had been killed. His heart pounded in his ears, and he was shaking inside his armor. That had been the worst day of his life, and now he was minutes from finding out if it was true…or if it had been a fraud all along.
In a few seconds, you’ll know…
He looked around quickly, his eyes confirming the room was indeed part of an infirmary. There were medical machines of various types and a row of cots along the side wall. He turned and looked at the beds, frantically searching, feeling the hope he’d so firmly kept under control escaping its bonds, driving him forth with unrestrainable excitement.
He retained enough of Darius the soldier to watch for enemies, but that discipline had been off, below its usual standard. Just enough. He didn’t even see the man, he just felt the impact, like a sledgehammer in his shoulder. He staggered backward, but he steadied himself and didn’t fall. He had a vague sensation of his soldiers firing, a passing image of the man who had shot him blown halfway across the room, his body shredded by at least a hundred rounds.
Darius felt hands on his armor, those of his Eagles, but he swung his arm back, pushing them away. The wound was bad, but his AI had already packed it with sterile foam and pumped him full of painkillers and stims. He’d deal with it later. Now he had something more important to do.
He pushed through the infirmary, shoving stacks of equipment out of his way with the enhanced strength of his armor. He spun around the corner, this time with his rifle drawn, held in front of him with one arm.
He was staring down a long wing of the room, his eyes moving from cot to cot. He felt the chill of the cold sweat on his neck, and he wondered if he’d even recognize his father after so many years. What torment had he lived through, what profound, aching loneliness? Would he be older? Yes, of course. Would he be changed, hurt? Would he even recognize his own son…a thirty-two year old man he’d last seen as a boy of fifteen?
