by Jay Allan
“Send a message to Commodore Allegre. He is to send down the first retrieval wave at 0700 planetary time tomorrow.” Cain had considered ordering his forces to break off immediately, but he was meticulous about meeting the terms of a contract. If the Eagles had agreed to a 90% degradation of Karelian combat capabilities, that is what they would deliver. “And order Vandeveer and Cornin to pursue any enemy military units that attempt to flee from the city. Two regiments should be enough to round up any holdouts by morning. I want the rest of the troops out of the city tonight. Raschid’s toy soldiers will be running wild, and I don’t want our people anywhere nearby when it happens.”
“I’m on it, Darius.” Teller’s voice went silent. Cain knew his friend was switching channels on his com, sending out the orders.
He saw sudden movement off to the right, and his head snapped around instinctively. Half a dozen Raschidan soldiers were chasing someone. He’d seen a thousand incarnations of something similar and, while he didn’t approve of such conduct, he knew it was part of war. But something caught his attention this time, and he cranked up his visor magnification to get a better look. It was a young woman running from the soldiers, and his eyes fixed on her the second she came into his view.
She looked to be in her early twenties. She was caked in mud and bleeding from a wound on her arm, but even so, Cain could see she was beautiful. Still, he wasn’t one to be distracted from his work by a pretty face—or anything else she might have to offer. He had half a dozen mistresses back at base, and no taste for anything more binding than a night’s passion. Indeed, he had multiple partners for just that reason, to prevent any problematic attachments or emotional baggage from developing.
Nevertheless, he found himself walking slowly down the hill, directly toward the approaching party. His eyes moved from the girl to her pursuers, and he quickened his pace. He knew what would happen when they caught her. The Raschidan animals would do it right on the ground, wherever they managed to take her down. And for some reason, Darius Cain decided to stop it.
“Darius, where are you going?” There was concern in Teller’s voice. The Karelians hadn’t put up much of a fight, but it was still a warzone.
“Just walking down here a bit,” Cain replied, clearly distracted. “I’ll be back.”
Teller turned and gestured for Cain’s guard to follow him. There were half a dozen on duty at any time, the pick of the Black Eagles. It was the one item on the organizational chart that Cain himself hadn’t specified. The bodyguard had been Teller’s idea, and he’d argued for it until Cain had gotten so sick of hearing about it, he’d agreed.
The heavily-armored soldiers trotted off down the hill after their commander. Two pushed forward, running ahead of Cain, while the others fell in around him. They carried their assault rifles at the ready, prepared to blast anything or anyone that threatened their commander.
Cain moved swiftly down the hillside. “Hold, you men,” he yelled to the approaching Raschidans. The AI in his suit translated the command into the soldiers’ native Arabic. They ignored him, and a few seconds later, he repeated the order. The AI translated again, but it failed to replicate the frigid threat embedded in Cain’s tone.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them shouted back, still chasing the girl. “Go fuck your brother, mercenary. We are the Emir’s men. This planet is ours now. And this woman is for us.” The AI was translating for Cain as well, though multiple jobs done for former Caliphate colonies had given him a working knowledge of the language. His accent was terrible, so he rarely tried to speak it, but he was fairly adept at understanding what he heard.
Cain ran up the rest of the way, reaching the girl just as one of her pursuers managed to grab her and knock her to the ground. The Raschidan was worked up into a frenzy of rage and lust, and he barely paid attention to Cain, reaching down toward his victim and tearing at the simple dress she wore. He had it halfway down when Cain’s armored hand grabbed him like a vice and tossed him three meters across the ground.
The others reacted, reaching for their guns. Cain’s guards were faster, and two of the Rashidans burst into clouds of red mist, their bodies almost disintegrated by the hyper-velocity rounds of the Eagles’ assault rifles. The others dropped their weapons and raised their hands, staring at the armored soldiers in abject terror.
Cain looked at the motionless soldiers, his eyes quickly picking out the commander. “Now, who was that you wanted me to fuck?” His voice was like the cold of space itself, but the AI’s translation spared the Raschidans the worst of it.
“I…we…are sorry. Sir?” The hapless soldier was guessing. The Eagles’ suits were identical, from the lowliest rookie private to their general and commander-in-chief. Cain had never had the ego-driven need for fancy uniforms, and he saw no reason to give gifts to enemy snipers. He knew what his people did to enemy officers kind enough to advertise their presence on the field, and he had no desire to see that done to him—or any of his people.
Cain ignored the petrified soldier, and he knelt down next to the woman. She’d fallen hard, and it looked like her arm was broken. She’d been shot too, and while it didn’t look life threatening, he was willing to bet it hurt like hell. He flipped the com to his guards’ channel. “Get a med unit over here immediately. He toggled the com back to the external speaker. “Are you OK?” He could see she was in pain—and terrified as well. “Stay calm. No one is going to hurt you.”
She turned and looked back up at him with hatred in her eyes. “Do you think I’m scared of you?” She spat at him. “You are murderers, barbarians. You only know death.”
Cain let her continue her tirade. She was even more beautiful than she’d looked from a distance. “Yes, I am all those things, I suppose, but for right now I intend to help you.” There was something about her that piqued his interest. He had just saved her from being gangraped and probably murdered, but she’d launched right at him with all the piss and vinegar she could muster. There was little Cain respected more than courage, and this young woman seemed to have more than her share.
“Is that why you came here? To help?” She leapt toward him and slammed her fist into his armor, recoiling in pain as she did.
He waved off his guards, who he thought just might shoot her when she moved toward him. “My armor is extremely tough. I wouldn’t do that again.” He glanced up at his tactical display, watching the med team approaching. “I’ll make a deal with you, though. My medics are going to take you back to one of our field hospitals so we can do something about that gunshot wound and that broken arm.” He smiled, though his armor hid it. “Go along with them quietly and, later, I’ll give you another shot once I’m out of my armor.”
“No,” she yelled. “I can’t go. I have to find my sister. She’s alone in the city.”
Cain imagined her staggering through burning ruins, wounded and in pain, but refusing to give up the search. His admiration grew. This woman was no pathetic sheep, like most of her fellow Karelians. “You’re never going to find her. You’ll just end up dead somewhere in the middle of the chaos.” He gestured toward one of his guards. “But I will send this man with you to the hospital. Tell him about your sister—her description, where you last saw her…everything. And I will send a company of soldiers to find her and get her out.”
She stared at him, her expression a mixture of contempt and confusion. “Why would I trust you?”
He stared down at her, though he knew all she could see was the bright reflective plate of his visor. “Because you seem like a realistic woman…and I’m the only thing you’ve got right now. And I have no reason to lie to you. There is nothing you have that I couldn’t take right now. Nothing I couldn’t make you do. But I am just going to see that your wounds are treated…and send a party out to find your sister.” He waved toward his guard, flipping his com unit as he did. “Sergeant, accompany this woman to the aid station. Get as much information about her sister as you can, and dispatch a special ops team into the city to
find her.”
“Sir!” The guard spun around and gestured to the med team, pointing toward the woman.
Cain watched as the medics moved to pick her up and lay her on the stretcher. She stared at them suspiciously, but she didn’t resist. The gurney had been designed to carry a fully-armored soldier, and she looked tiny laying in the middle.
“They won’t hurt you,” he called to her. “And tell the sergeant everything you can about your sister. My people will find her for you.” He paused then added, “What is your name?”
“Ana,” she replied, her tone still bitter, but now also confused. “Ana Bazarov.”
He watched as the medical team carried her away then he turned back toward the Raschidan soldiers. His normally clear mind was clouded with anger. Ana Bazarov, he thought, the image of her face lingering in his mind.
“What shall we do with them, sir?” The commander of his guard stood at attention. The Raschidans hadn’t moved. They cowered under the guns of his troopers.
Cain stared at the pathetic creatures. They had dropped their weapons and given themselves up. But the image of them pursuing Ana was still in his mind. They were creatures, and if he let them go they would just torment and kill more civilians. He imagined what they had been about to do to Ana, and anger coursed through his body.
Ana Bazarov.
“Kill them,” he said coldly. Then he turned and walked away.
* * * * *
“Let’s move. If we catch them at the river, we’ll bag the entire force. And then we can all take a nice leisurely ride back to the ship.” Sergeant Reaves was jogging along, shifting from side to side to keep from launching himself into the air. His armor magnified his own strength exponentially, and a slow jog would bounce him 5 or 10 meters up if he wasn’t careful. That was bad news on a battlefield, where it tended to make you a target for every bogie within half a klick. Not that any of this bunch is likely to shoot straight enough to pick me off. It was the general opinion of the regiment—and the rest of the Eagles, he’d bet—that these Karelians were just about the worst fucking soldiers they’d ever seen.
Still, if General Cain had drilled one thing into their heads, it was always be careful! The worst half-assed toy soldier in Occupied Space could scrag your ass if you let your guard down, and none of the Eagles wanted to be some other fool’s lucky shot.
The whole section was moving quickly. The Karelians were unarmored, and there was no way they could outrun the Eagles. With Reaves’ section on the left, and Dolan’s on the right, there was nowhere for the refugees to run but straight for the river. And they’d never get across before they were captured. Or wiped out—that would be their choice.
The ground beyond Petersburg was mostly lowland plains, boggy in a few places, and wide-open everywhere. There was no place to hide, no way to even try to evade pursuit. The whole thing was a waste of time. If the damned Karelians would just surrender instead of trying to run, they might make it back to their families. If they insisted on putting up a fight, Reaves knew his troops would wipe them out in a heartbeat. His people just wanted to wrap up the operation; they weren’t out for blood. This was a job to them, nothing more. But the Karelians were so scared shitless, they probably expected the Eagles to massacre them.
Reaves’ best guess was they were chasing eighty enemy troops, maybe a hundred tops, one of three or four forces that size the enemy still had in the field, all that was left from maybe 5,000 half a day earlier.
“We’re half a klick from the river,” he snapped into his com. “Squad B, push forward and make contact with the water. When you get there, turn and start moving in. I want one team on point, the other in support 500 meters back.” He looked out in the direction of the enemy. “Squad A, with me. We’re going to move in slowly at an angle and link up with B Squad’s forward team.”
It was dark now, and visibility was for shit. Karelia didn’t even have a moon, and the starlight was next to useless. It was only a minute or two before Squad B disappeared into the darkness.
“Corporal Weed, pop a recon drone. I want to know where these fuckers are. Exactly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Reaves knew Corporal Weed thought it was a waste of an expensive piece of hardware—and their cuts would be calculated after the costs of the expedition were deducted—but he didn’t care. Better safe than sorry, and if it saved one of his troopers it was worth ten times the cost. Besides, General Cain had charged a king’s ransom for this job, and they all stood to make a pretty pile for a battle that looked like it wouldn’t last longer than a day.
A few seconds later, Reaves heard the popping sound of the drone’s engine igniting, and the watermelon-sized device shot off into the night sky, leaving a trail of fire and smoke in its wake.
“Alright, let’s move.” He pushed forward, his pace slow and cautious now. “Drone input to my display,” he snapped to his AI. An instant later, a handful of small gray ovals appeared on the inside of his visor—the Karelian troops, exactly where they were supposed to be. And something else too. “Sergeant Ving, what do you make of…”
His com unit crackled with feedback. “Outside jamming has interdicted all communications, Sergeant.” The cool, even voice of his AI reported before he could even ask.
“Increase power to the com.” Reaves had his assault rifle in hand, and a quick glance around confirmed his troopers were on alert as well.
“Negative, Sergeant,” the AI responded. “Your power plant in incapable of producing sufficient power to override the jamming.”
“But that’s impossible…” Reaves’ voice trailed off. What the hell is going on?
“It is unlikely, certainly, given all intelligence regarding Karelian military capabilities, however the fact that we are indeed being jammed proves it is possible.”
Reaves opened his mouth, but he closed it again without saying anything. He’d argued with his overly literal AI more than once, and he knew it was the very definition of futility. He had more important things to worry about now. Like who the hell was jamming his com.
“Open visor,” he snapped to the AI. An instant later there was a loud popping sound, and the front of his helmet retracted. Mission parameters called for closed suits even with breathable atmospheres. The protocol protected against radiation and undetected chemical and biological weapons, but right now Reaves had to communicate with his people.
He gestured, moving around to show them all his open helm. One by one they popped their visors and moved in closer.
“What is happening, sir? Can this be the Karelians?” Ving was the first to ask what they were all thinking, and the rest stayed quiet and listened. The Eagles were too disciplined to start talking over each other.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He turned toward the section’s scout. “Corporal Kyle, go after B Squad. I want them back here ASAP.” Reaves didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit. And he wanted his people all together.
“Sir!” the scout replied, and he turned and disappeared into the inky blackness.
“I want everybody on alert.” He moved his head, looking at each of his soldiers in turn. “We don’t know what’s going on, but I’m betting it’s not good…so nobody gets surprised, you got me?”
There was a chorus of yessirs, and the troopers turned outward, staring off into the darkness, rifles in hand.
Reaves squinted, trying to see anything at all in the direction of the enemy. His eyes darted up to his display, but the jamming had knocked out scanning too. He felt a chill, a cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. It was quiet, almost eerily so, and he couldn’t see anything. Something’s out there, he thought, straining to listen for anything at all. They’re not jamming us for nothing.
He heard a shot, and an instant later he spun around to see Ving down, a hole the size of a grapefruit in his chest. “We’re under attack,” he shouted, almost instinctively. Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter 2
“The Cape”
Planet Atlantia, Epsilon Indi II
Earthdate: 2288 AD (3 Years After the Fall)
Erik Cain walked silently up the stone steps from the beach. It was deep into the long Atlantian night, and he hadn’t slept at all. Not for the first time, he wondered about the wisdom of an insomniac settling on a world where night was a good hour and a quarter longer than on Earth. Cain’s sleeping problem was nothing new, though it had gotten worse over the years. It was just one of the wounds from a lifetime spent at war, one he suspected he would carry to his grave.
He’d taken to going on long walks at night. Atlantia’s Cape District was one of the most beautiful areas he’d ever seen on any of the planets he’d visited. The coast was long and rocky, with small outcroppings perched between white, sandy beaches. Atlantia’s single continent was shaped like a multi-pronged star, with a series of long, winding archipelagoes extending hundreds of kilometers into the planet’s great ocean. It was the closest thing to a perfect place Cain could imagine, and when he’d chosen Atlantia as his new home, he’d hoped he would find the calm and peace he craved. But his demons had followed him, even into paradise.
Cain wondered if there came a time when a man had simply seen too much evil, too much death. When he’d looked into the eyes of too many friends and watched them slip away, pouring their lifeblood into the sands of an alien world. When he’d held the hands of grizzled veterans as they breathed their last, and pimply-faced kids trying to hold their guts in with bloodsoaked fingers. Cain had enough material for a lifetime of nightmares.
