by Jay Allan
Ana Bazarov grabbed onto the edge of her workstation, steadying herself as Eagle Eleven shook from yet another direct hit. The Eagles’ current flagship was fighting three enemy battleships, and while she was somehow holding her own for the moment, Bazarov knew the damage was wearing her down.
She pushed back a momentary urge to laugh, a strange impulse buried among the fear that was closing on her from all sides. She’d had another fight with Darius, one that had gone down to the wire, with her insisting that he assign her to Eagle Eleven’s crew and him demanding she stay behind, at the Nest or on Columbia. Once again, she’d achieved something few people in Occupied Space could boast. She’d gotten Darius Cain to yield, to give in to her demands.
You fought the good fight to get your way…so you could die here…
She turned and caught Colonel Teller glancing over at her again. Teller was Darius’s oldest friend, and Ana knew her presence made him nervous. She and the Eagles’ second-in-command had become close, almost like brother and sister, and she knew Teller wanted her safe as much as the Eagles’ commander did himself.
These are all the people in the world you care about…except Tatyana, of course, but she is well-provided for now. Of course, that means nothing if this battle is lost. She thought of her little sister, enslaved, or worse. No, she thought, Tatyana was always the tougher of us. Her sister would fight to the end. She would never yield, never become anyone’s slave.
“Report from Eagle Three, sir.” Ana stared at her screen, reading the communique. “They report energy readings from the warp gate.” Bazarov felt her spirit sink even further. The situation had been close to hopeless, but she’d still maintained some scrap of faith. In the last few years, she’d come to understand just how capable the Eagles were, that it was never wise to give up on them. But if enemy reinforcements were on the way, she knew it was over.
“Very well, Lieutenant.” Teller’s voice was as cool as ever, no sense of the emotion she knew he had to be feeling, the realization that the battle was as good as lost. “Report immediately when you have updated data.”
“Yes, sir.” Ana could still hear the word, ‘lieutenant’ in her ears. Darius had made her position official, moving her from the cadet ranks, to official status as an Eagle officer. She’d been thrilled by the gesture, but also a bit worried the others would resent her, view her as Darius Cain’s lover and nothing more. But that hadn’t been the case. She’d passed every test any Eagle went through, and she’d been third in her cadet class…and the other Eagles recognized that. She’d been surprised, and only then had she realized the extent of the cult of excellence Darius had created. Nothing was more important to the Eagles than being the best. Nothing.
Her eyes were fixed on the screen when the comm unit buzzed. She listened to the signal, and then she turned around abruptly. “Colonel, I have Admiral Garret on your line.”
“Augustus…” Teller spoke rapidly into his headset. “We’ve got trouble coming.”
A few seconds passed as the signal traveled across the system and Garret’s made its way back. “Yes, Erik…we do. I’m going to pull half my ships out of the line and get them formed up to meet whatever’s coming. I know you’re thin already, but can you stretch out, cover some of that space?” A short pause, but then, before Teller responded, “I don’t know what else we can do.”
“We’ll manage it, Augustus. Somehow.” The tone of the last word was the first sign of edginess Ana had heard from Teller. She had heard stories of the great Augustus Garret, of his epic battles and massive victories. If anything could shake the iron that made up Teller, it was hearing Garret say he didn’t know what to do.
“Good luck, Augustus.”
That last bit sounded as controlled as any of Teller’s previous commands, at least to most, but Ana could hear the difference, subtle, barely noticeable. The Eagles’ second-in-command had given up hope, whatever shreds of it had remained. When enemy ships poured through that warp gate, that would be the end. She’d suspected as much when she’d first heard the transmission, but now she had no doubt, none at all.
She was afraid, terrified to her core. But her mind wasn’t on Eagle Eleven’s bridge. It was down on the planet, with Darius…and the thought that she’d never see him again almost overwhelmed her.
Almost. She wasn’t going to lose it, whatever it took. If she was going to die, she would die like a Black Eagle.
* * * * *
Darius stood next to his father, looking out over the camp. There was movement all around, troop formations redeploying, small transports moving what little remained of the supplies. A Black Eagles camp was never a passive site. There was always something happening, activity everywhere. But now, there was something else going on, a commotion of some sort, a ripple of uncustomary disorder among Darius’s people. He was about to contact the HQ line and see what the hell was going on when he saw an aide rushing across the makeshift street toward him. The officer was armored, but even without a look at her expression, Darius knew whatever she had for him wasn’t good news.
“General Cain…” The aide shouted loudly. Her words came through both on the comm and the outside microphones.
Father and son both turned abruptly toward the voice, but it was a Black Eagle calling, and Darius was the General Cain she was after. The officer staggered to a controlled halt, a meter or so from Darius.
“Report, Lieutenant.” He could tell from her tone she was flustered, something rare enough among the Eagles in general, and almost non-existent with those chosen to serve as his assistants and support officers.
“We just got a report from Colonel Teller, sir. He advises the fleet has inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, but is still being driven back. He does not believe the combined naval forces can prevail.” The words hit Darius like an anvil. He’d been worried about the naval fight, well-aware how outnumbered his forces were, but his people had always managed to prevail before, and he’d hung his hopes on that.
“The enemy strength,” the aide continued, “is simply too great, our forces too battered and low on ordnance.” Then, the words that struck Darius hard, the true reason for Teller’s pessimism: “The colonel also reports signs of enemy reserves about to transit the warp gate.” She hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. “He says to tell you he will fight to the end, General. And he…” Another pause, then the officer’s voice continued, heavy with emotion now. “…he says he is sorry he let you down, sir. Sorry he failed you.”
Darius heard the words, and they sliced at him like a blade. Every bit of excitement he’d felt, at his father’s survival, at the likelihood of victory on the ground, faded rapidly. None of it mattered, not if the fleets were defeated. At best, his survivors would be trapped, subjected to renewed bombardment, and besieged until enemy reinforcements could arrive…and this siege would start with the defenders already almost out of food and ammunition. It would be a rout, a disaster, with no possible outcome save for total destruction.
And with the Eagles and the Marines out of the fight, there would be nothing left that could stand in the way of the Black Flag’s relentless advance. Humanity was too splintered, its forces too disunited to stand without the Eagles and their Marine allies to lead them. Without names like Cain and Gilson, Garret and Teller to take the lead, they would have no chance. Some would resist, even fight to the end, but they would fall, one by one, individually and in small groups.
Darius felt something new to him, something he’d thought about, even feared, but never truly experienced. Defeat. It was a cold shadow, one that pushed down on him, slamming against the iron stubbornness at his core. He saw no way out, no path to extricate his people from destruction.
His mind raced, fruitlessly, trying to find a way, any way to salvage things. Nothing. If the fleet was defeated, it was over.
Still he wouldn’t give up, not until the enemy closed his eyes for him.
And maybe not even then.
* * * * *
; “I want you ready, Camille. We’ve got enough trouble here already without letting them get new reserves formed up and into the fight.” Augustus Garret knew he was asking the impossible. Camille Harmon had been one of his most reliable subordinates for decades, a grim and capable warrior who’d served at his side since the days of the Third Frontier War. There was no one he’d rather have in a vital spot in a battle, but even she couldn’t do the impossible. Her ships were damaged and depleted, their missiles gone, their fighters scattered all across the system. The vessels themselves were disorganized, drawn one at a time from wherever he could get them, with little regard to the fleet’s order of battle. Garret had considered for a brief instant that the energy spike could be supply ships or a courier vessel, but even that shred of hope had been dashed. The intensity of the readings left no doubt. Whatever was coming through, there were some large ships there, behemoths even. And that could only mean warships.
“We’ve done this dance before, Admiral, and we’ve come through. We’ve always done what we had to do, haven’t we?” Harmon had always been defiant, but the loss of her son years before, had hardened her like the center of a neutron star. Max Harmon hadn’t just been lost in combat, he’d been trapped behind the Barrier, the disrupted warp gate that had separated humanity from the vast fleets of the First Imperium…and trapped half the fleet on the other side. Garret suspected death would be a relief to her in ways, but he knew Harmon well enough to be sure she’d go down fighting to the last.
“Yesterday’s gone, Camille. Let’s just do what we can here. Good luck to you.” He wanted to say more of a goodbye. He’d never had the chance to bid a proper farewell to his closest friend before he’d consigned him to death. Terrance Compton had been the commander of the forces trapped behind the Barrier. For years, Garret had tried to convince himself that Compton would have found a way out, an escape route to keep his people alive. But he’d long since resigned himself to the realization that he’d killed his friend that day, along with the tens of thousands who’d served with him.
“Good luck to you…Augustus.”
Garret sat and stared at the comm, even after the line went dead. Then, he lifted his eyes toward the main display. Bunker Hill was still engaged, fighting off enemy battleships coming in from all sides. The great ship shook hard, and then again, as its attackers scored a pair of hits. The old ship was blasting its thrusters in a wildly random pattern, pulling every evasive maneuver in the book, but still, slowly, gradually, the few shots that scored hits were taking their toll. The engines were down to eighty percent, not critical, but the reduced thrust would hamper countermeasures, and that would, in turn, increase the rate at which the enemy was scoring hits.
Bunker Hill was far from passive, however, despite being outnumbered and surrounded. Her weapons fired, the giant x-ray lasers ripping through space, slamming into the ships of the Black Flag, slicing through hulls, blasting whole systems to scrap. Even as Garret watched, yet another enemy battleship disappeared, as its reactors’ containment failed, and the fury of uncontrolled nuclear fusion was released. But even as he watched the lopsided casualty rates—his ships were taking out three or four enemies for every loss they took—he knew it wasn’t enough. There were just too many of the enemy.
“Ships coming through the warp gate, Admiral.”
Garret just nodded silently. His eyes were glued to the display.
The mass readings came through first…enormous, far larger than even his Yorktowns. Any lingering hope he was dealing with supply ships or messengers was gone.
The energy readings were coming through now as well, not from the warp gate, but from the ships themselves. After three-quarters of a century of war, Augustus Garret knew the signs of ships’ weaponry getting ready to fire.
His eyes focused on the ragged line of small blips, Harmon’s ships, waiting, preparing to fight what he knew would be their last battle. He could feel the moistness in his eyes as he watched yet another old friend going to her death.
At least this time she will only be moments ahead of you…
He stared, surprised that Harmon hadn’t started shooting yet. She was one of the fiercest fighters he’d ever seen, but her ships were just sitting in space, their weapons silent. Then, the new ships opened fire.
Great pulses of high energy x-ray lasers tore through space, slamming hard into the hulls of target vessels, melting armor plating, shattering structural supports. The attack was fierce, brutal, unyielding, and it ripped into the formations waiting in the system.
But the attack wasn’t directed at Harmon’s ships.
Garret watched in stunned shock as more vessels poured through the gate. There were only two of the great superbattleships that had given the massive readings, but they were followed by normal-sized capital ships, and then a wave of cruisers and frigates. And every one of them tore into the system, going after any Black Flag ships they could find.
The enemy ships, so close to victory, now began to fall into disorder. Squadrons moved around, seeming almost clueless as to whether they should face the new attackers or finish off the battered Eagle and Marine fleets. And Augustus Garret, still confused, knew the moment had come.
“All ships, attack,” he said to the communications officer. “All fleet units are to close to point blank range with the nearest enemy…and don’t stop until they’re nothing but dust and plasma.” He could feel the feral intensity, the drive that had led him to so many victories, and he let it take him, as it had so often before.
“And get me a line to one of those ships…” He had to know what was going on.
“We have an incoming communique, sir. It appears to be from one of the large vessels.”
“On my line.”
He listened as the transmission played, a wide grin slipping onto his face as he recognized the voice.
“Hello, Augustus…Darius Cain sent a courier. He thought you might need some help. You didn’t forget you’re not alone in this fight, did you?”
“Send a response,” he snapped to the waiting officer. Then he tapped his headset, activating the microphone.
“Roderick Vance, you old dog…God, am I glad to see you. Welcome to Gamma Pavonis, and not a moment too soon!”
Garret watched as the ships of the Martian fleet, fresh and fully-supplied, tore into the spent vessels of the Black Flag.
Victory was no longer an impossible dream. It was there for the taking.
“Let’s go…full thrust forward, and all weapons, fire!
Chapter 26
MFS John Carter
Armstrong Orbit
Gamma Pavonis System
Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)
Darius stepped out of the shuttle doors and onto the scarred and battered metal of the landing bay. John Carter and the rest of the Martian fleet had helped turned the tide, and the combined allied forces had shattered the enemy fleet, sending its broken remnants retreating from the system. Whatever compulsion toward fighting to the death the enemy instilled in its rank and file, it appeared clear again that the higher ranks were only too willing to flee when the battle was lost.
The Martian fleet had saved the day, but not without cost, as Darius could clearly see all around him. There was debris strewn everywhere, and more than one area where heavy trusses and large pieces of equipment had crashed to the deck.
“General Cain, welcome to John Carter.” Roderick Vance walked toward Darius, extending his hand. “And to you, General Cain,” he added, as Darius’s father stepped out after his son.
“What can I say, President Vance, except thank you?” Darius nodded, but then he stepped aside, yielding the lead position to his father. Erik Cain and Roderick Vance had been allies decades before Darius had even been born.
“I am just glad your courier reached us in time, General…though, may I suggest we dispense with all the titles and honorifics? It makes me feel old.” Vance, not a man noted for lighthearted amusement, allowed himself a small grin.<
br />
Darius just nodded, but Erik Cain took a step forward. He looked for a moment like he was going to offer his hand, but then he just reached out and embraced the Martian dictator. “Roderick, my old friend. It is always good to see you. From what I can glean, you cut it a little close this time, but you made it, and that’s all that matters.”
Vance, usually uncomfortable with such displays, returned Cain’s with enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t have been here at all if your son hadn’t gotten a message through. What’s with you trying to fight this thing alone? We’re in it together, don’t forget.” Vance took a deep breath, and then he continued, a more somber tone in his voice. “And it seems we have come down to it, now, doesn’t it? The final struggle.”
“It does…as it has far too often in the past, Roderick. But we’ll get through this one, as we have all the others, my friend.”
Vance hesitated, looking around, checking to see if anyone else was in earshot. “Not this time, Erik. Not me, at least. But I am here to do all I can to aid you, to secure the future, for Mars, and for the rest of Occupied Space.”
“This is no time for fatalistic premonitions, Roderick. We’ll make it, all of us.”
Vance paused again. “I’m dying, my friend. I have months left, perhaps not even.”
Cain stood, looking stunned. Darius watched, almost as shocked himself. The two Cain’s had seen thousands of men and women die in battle. They had both lost friends. Erik Cain had seen ninety-five percent of Earth’s population perish in the Fall. But somehow listening to a friend say calmly that he was dying proved hardest to accept.
“What? Sarah is down on Armstrong, seeing to transferring the wounded. I’ll send for her and…”
“I’m the dictator of the Martian Republic, Erik. With all due respect to your lovely wife, and one of my absolute favorite people, by the way, don’t you think everything that can be done has been? It’s some sort of accelerated mutation, likely from the bombardment of Mars. There have been a significant number of cases over the years. Specifics vary somewhat from person to person, but mortality is certain.”
