Crimson Worlds: 08 - Even Legends Die

by Jay Allan

  The company was spread out in a long firing line. Gunning down a bunch of Cogs didn’t require complex strategy. A few volleys and the ignorant animals would lose heart and run. Not many of them would make it back across the river, though. Wendell’s orders were clear on that.

  He turned his head and looked south again. He could just about hear the roar of the mob as it approached. “Prepare to fire.” He had positioned his company about a kilometer south of the Wall, in a mostly-open area where the abandoned buildings had been levelled. It provided an ideal field of fire.

  The crowd was surging northward, pouring from the blocks of ancient, abandoned buildings and out into the open area. Wendell stared in shock for a few seconds. There were tens of thousands of them…hundreds of thousands. His arrogant calm began to slip away. “Fire,” he screamed into the com, a bit of panic sneaking into his voice. “All units, fire!”

  The line opened up, the deep blast of the assault rifles mixing with the staccato cracks of the autocannons. Along the front edge of the mob, hundreds fell, their bodies torn almost to shreds by the automatic fire. But the crowd surged ahead, trampling the bodies of the fallen, screaming madly for blood.

  Wendell was stunned when the mob kept coming. “Keep firing!” he shouted into the com. “Keep firing!”

  Hundreds more fell, thousands. But nothing broke the momentum of the screaming, incensed mass. One of Wendell’s soldiers fell…then another. The mob wasn’t totally unarmed. They’d killed guards on their rampage, and they took what weapons they’d found, mostly semi-automatic pistols and rifles.

  Wendell watched with growing panic as the rampaging Cogs got closer. Then it started. One of his troopers threw down his assault rifle and ran back toward the Wall…then another…and another. In a few seconds, the entire company, including its commander, was fleeing north, desperately trying to reach the relative safety of the Protected Zone.

  Wendell got to the Wall and looked up in horror. The gates were closed. His people threw themselves at the massive structure and clawed at the closed portal, screaming for the guards inside to let them in. But there was no response.

  Then the mob reached them. Dozens of hands grabbed each of his men, pulling them back into the crowd like some hideous beast dragging prey to its fanged mouth. The cries of the dying soldiers were drowned by the screams of the bloodthirsty mob. Wendell felt the hands on his shoulders, on his arms. He was pulled back, thrust upward and carried into the depths of the crowd.

  He felt the blows, hands first, and then he was on the ground being kicked and stomped. The pain was unbearable. He curled up, protecting himself as well as he could, but it was hopeless. He screamed in pain and mindless terror, and then he felt the darkness begin to take him.

  Chapter 17

  Field Hospital

  North of Astria

  Planet Armstrong

  Gamma Pavonis II

  “Sit still, or I’m going to fuse your shoulder to the side of your head.” Sarah Linden’s voice was cold, emotionless, her mind focused on what she was doing.

  Cain was lying on the table, stripped out of his armor and wearing only a pair of blue Marine Corps shorts. Sarah was leaning over his shoulder, moving the cell-rejuvenator slowly over his wound. He twitched as the rays worked their magic, accelerating the repair and healing process. It didn’t hurt, not really, but it was an uncomfortable feeling. And it tickled. The rejuvenator couldn’t repair a major wound, but Cobra’s shot had gone right through the fleshy tissue of Cain’s shoulder. There was no bone or nerve damage, and with a quick rejuv treatment, he’d be able to get back on the line almost immediately. Not that Cain would have stayed off the line even if he had multiple slugs in his chest. Not now. His people were about to make their final stand, and healthy, sick, or dying, Erik Cain would be with them.

  He angled his head so he could see Sarah…or the back of her mane of red hair, at least. He’d tried to get her to take some time to herself, told her that one of the other doctors could fix his shoulder, but she wouldn’t have any of it. “I’m fine,” was all she had said, in a tone that didn’t invite further comment.

  Cain knew the kind of pain she was feeling. He’d lost countless friends, as well as the thousands of his Marines who had died following his commands. The guilt from that responsibility was immense, and over the years it had made sleep a very hit and run affair. But one had been worse than the others, orders of magnitude worse. Darius Jax had been a brother to Cain, closer even than most siblings. The two had fought together, risen through the ranks together…lived, ate, and slept together. Corporals Cain and Jax had been friends…just as they remained when both wore general’s stars. Then Jax died, killed in action early in the First Imperium War. Marines die, and losing a friend is never an easy thing. But Jax’s loss was uniquely painful, not just because they were so close, but because his death was Erik Cain’s fault.

  Cain hadn’t listened; he’d let his arrogance get the better of him. And Jax paid the price. He plunged into the gap, saving the day…but at a terrible cost. Cain never forgot the crushing grief and guilt. He never really dealt with it either. Like he usually did, he buried the pain, focusing on the battle ahead rather than the heartache from yesterday. He knew he would pay for it all eventually; one day he would have a reckoning with all the sorrow and anger he’d submerged deep in his mind. And General Darius Jax would lead that charge.

  Cain could face the prospects of his own emotional reckoning, but he couldn’t imagine Sarah suffering that way. He had long ago resigned himself to his fate…he deserved his torments. He was a butcher, a stone cold killer. All he knew how to do was kill, destroy. He didn’t warrant anything better, not in his own estimation. But Sarah Linden had spent the last 20 years saving lives, often putting her own in grave danger to do it. He couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering such pain, and he raged against the unfairness of it all.

  But he knew better than to argue, to try to coax the tears from her. She was as much a professional as he was, and there promised to be no shortage of broken Marines for her to repair. She didn’t have time for personal pain right now any more than he did, and she wore as effective a mask of emotional invulnerability as he ever had.

  He’d tried to talk to her about it on the ride back to the hospital. She simply stared at him and replied, “Alex killed people for Alliance Intelligence for 20 years. What happened was an accident, but she wouldn’t have been there at all if she hadn’t come here initially to spy on us. And kill you.” Cain started to reply, but Sarah but her hand on his lips. “No more,” she said. “We both have jobs to do.” He frowned uncomfortably, but he let it drop. For the moment.

  “You’re all set.” Sarah’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You need to rest for a few hours, but Sanchez is still servicing your armor anyway.” She paused, pulling her gloves off and taking a last look at her handiwork. “Try not to tear it all apart, OK?” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll give Hector a list of injections once you’re back in your armor. It’s going to be tender for a while, but nothing a few shots won’t control.”

  He looked up at her. “Sarah…” He couldn’t find the words, and he just stared up at her.

  She looked at him, her eyes focused like two lasers. “I told you, I’m fine.” Her voice was cool, professional…and utterly without emotion.

  He sighed softly. Yeah, he thought…you’re just fine. He knew she was anything but.

  “Even out that spacing.” Isaac Merrick walked up and down the line, shouting out orders to the Marines preparing to make their last stand. “And move that autocannon 10 meters to the right. Your field of fire’s partially blocked where you are.” Merrick had talked with Cain and the two agreed completely. The army wasn’t going to retreat another step. They would make their last stand – and live or die – where they were. And they were going to give the enemy the toughest fight possible. Fatigue, fear…none of it was an excuse. If this was to be their last battle, that was all
the more reason to make it their best.

  Merrick had been sitting with Anderson-45, getting to know the enigmatic prisoner, when word arrived that Cain had been wounded. He didn’t know how badly Cain was hit, but he knew he had to get back to the line. Immediately. If Erik was out of commission, he was in command. And he wasn’t going to sit in the hospital like some convalescent when Cain needed him to be out in the field.

  He’d taken charge of the redeployment and the fortification of the new line, but Cain was only gone for a few hours before he returned and resumed command. But Merrick was back on the line now, and he had no intention of slinking back to the hospital. The Marines were getting ready to make their last stand and, by God, he wasn’t going to sit in a hospital bed while they did it. The entire force had worked non-stop for three days, but they’d gotten the defensive line ready…just a few hours before the enemy attacked.

  He was tired…no, that was a horrendous understatement. He was exhausted. The only thing keeping him awake was the steady dose of stims his AI pumped into his system. But as long as the chemicals kept him on his feet he could fight. And that was all he had to do.

  The new line was tough, multiple echelons of trenches with strongpoints placed in targeted spots. It was the best defense the battered Marines could offer, and an engineering marvel under the circumstances. No one seriously thought it would be enough, but if the enemy wanted the victory, the Marines were going to make them pay for it.

  “Isaac, I want you to take charge on the left.” Cain’s voice was firm, resolute. Merrick knew the Marines’ commander well. Cain’s doubts came in the quiet hours, when the fighting had briefly subsided and given him time to reflect. But now the enemy was advancing and battle would soon be joined. The doubts, the fatigue, the hopelessness…it was back in the deep recesses of Cain’s mind, and Merrick knew the unstoppable warrior was in control again. “I’ll take the right.”

  “Yes, sir.” Merrick’s tone was grim, hard. He was ready for the final battle.

  “We should be engaged in a few minutes, Isaac. We stand here, no matter what. We don’t move a centimeter. Understood?”

  “Yes, Erik.” Merrick pulled his assault rifle from its harness and slammed in a fresh clip. “Understood.”

  “Good luck, my friend.” Cain’s iron voice softened slightly. It was a flash of weakness, fleeting and barely noticeable. Anyone who knew him less well than Merrick did would have missed it. But Merrick knew. Cain expected this to be their last battle.

  “We have the scanning reports.” Abbas walked into the ready room carrying a large ‘pad. “It appears we have arrived just in time. The Marines are heavily outnumbered. They appear to be under extreme pressure even as we speak.”

  Khaled was stripping out of his uniform, handing his garments to an aide as he did. “Then we must waste no time. Commander Farooq’s orta group is ready to launch immediately.” He looked up at the admiral. “I will give him the order at once. Are we agreed?”

  Abbas nodded somberly. “We are agreed.”

  “May I?” Khaled motioned toward the ‘pad.

  “Certainly.” Abbas handed the device to his companion.

  Khaled looked at the small screen, his face twisting into a frown as he did. “The Alliance forces are certainly outnumbered. Indeed, they are facing a sizeable enemy army.” He handed back the ‘pad and sat on a small bench, pulling one of his boots off. “I will bring the remainder of the forces down as quickly as possible after Farooq’s vanguard.” He paused. “I believe we should commit all of our ground forces immediately. The situation on the surface appears to be quite desperate.”

  Abbas was silent for a moment. Finally, he exhaled and said, “I am inclined to agree. My initial thought was to hold back a considerable reserve, but it appears that all of your people will be needed if we are to affect the outcome on the surface. There is little point in squandering half our strength to die alongside the Marines in defeat.” I could even the score considerably with an orbital bombardment, he thought. But he knew that wasn’t an option. Armstrong was a major Alliance colony, and the home world of the Marine Corps. Blasting it to radioactive dust was probably a bad way to foster a growing friendship with Garret and Cain and their people.

  “Then I will bring the rest of the Janissary corps to full alert.” He pulled off his other boot, handing it to his aide. “If you will have your people prepare the landing craft, I believe I will look to organizing a second assault wave.”

  Abbas nodded, and he bowed slightly, the Caliphate equivalent of a handshake. “Fortune go with you, Lord Khaled.”

  “And with you, Admiral Abbas.” Khaled returned the gesture. He had no doubt he cut an amusing figure bowing solemnly to the formally clad Abbas, wearing only a pair of shorts. “And to all those who serve you.” Khaled rose slowly, maintaining eye contact with Abbas as he did.

  “And to those who serve you, Lord Khaled.” Abbas turned abruptly and strode back toward the corridor.

  “May fortune go with all of us, Admiral. With all of us,” Khaled whispered to himself as he walked toward the clamshell of his waiting armor.

  “We’ve got recon drones coming in everywhere.” Merrick was looking at Cain. He’d been posted on the left of the army, commanding the flank, but when he started picking up the drones, he ran over to Cain’s position. The two officers had their visors retracted, and they were talking face to face. “It looks like a pre-landing sweep.”

  Cain sighed. He had spent his career staying cool in the face of disaster, but every man has his limits…and Cain was close to his. He’d been trying to stay focused on the battle, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Sarah. She was acting as if nothing had happened, but he knew she had immense pain waiting for her. And Erik Cain, the master of suppressing guilt and pain and horror, had no idea how to help her.

  But the bad news just kept coming. It wasn’t enough for the situation to be hopeless…it had to be utterly hopeless. “How could they possibly have more reserves incoming?” His eyes bored into Merrick’s, though he knew his second in command had no answers to offer him. “Why would they even bother? They’ve got more than enough to finish us off now.”

  “Maybe it’s just a naval force in orbit updating their scouting data.” It was a plausible suggestion, but Merrick didn’t sound like he believed it any more than Cain did.

  Cain forced a fleeting smile. “Nice try, Isaac. But you know a pre-assault scan as well as I do.” He slapped his hand on his exec’s shoulder. “If I don’t get a chance to tell you in the next day or two…or whatever we’ve got left…” – Cain’s voice was somber, emotional – “…it’s been an honor serving with you. I’m glad you found your way to us.”

  Merrick’s route to the Corps had been a bizarre one. He had first encountered the Marines as an enemy, commanding the Federal forces sent to crush the rebellion on Arcadia. After the rebel victory, Merrick was scapegoated for the failure and, even though his influential family protected him from any serious persecution, his career was over. He chose to emigrate rather than remain at home in disgrace, and he eventually linked up with the Marines and aided them against the First Imperium. By the end of that war, he was a Marine general and he’d won over the rank and file to become one of the Corps’ most popular officers.

  “Home, Erik.” Merrick stared back at Cain with moist eyes. “I found my way home.” He took a deep breath. “And we’re not done yet. Not until the motherfuckers kill every one of us.”

  Cain managed another smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more, my friend. I couldn’t agree more.” He looked down at the ground for a few seconds then back up at Merrick. “You better get back, Isaac. The party’s about to start.”

  Merrick nodded. “Yup.” He turned halfway, still looking at Cain. “Take care of yourself, Erik.”

  “You too.” Cain watched Merrick start walking away, and he yelled after him, “And not one step back, Isaac. Not one.”

  “No, sir. Not one step back.” Merrick turn
ed and trotted off to the east.

  Cain looked up toward the line. He had one-third of his strength in the first row of trenches. Those Marines would put up a sharp fight, and then they would fall back, pulling the enemy forward, deeper into the trench network. Cain had no intention of abandoning the overall position, but he definitely planned to suck the enemy farther into the killing zone he’d created. Each layer of entrenchments was stronger than the previous one. If all went as planned, the enemy would push forward, breaking through the front line everywhere except the strongpoints located every 500 meters or so. Then they would hit the next, stronger line, while the surviving forts along the front enfilading the advancing troops. The defense was Cain’s masterpiece…everything he’d learned about killing distilled into one fortified position.

  But now he had to deal with the incoming enemy reinforcements as well. If they came down to the south of the line, they’d just be so many more troops overwhelming his defenses. But if they came down to the north they could sweep through the almost unprotected hospital and refugee camps and hit his lines from the rear. Whatever happened in the next few hours, he had to have something posted north of the civilian camps. He had to at least slow down any landing force. He didn’t have anything to spare from the line, but he pulled out 2 battalions anyway…and sent them north with the 28 Obliterators who’d somehow managed to survive Clarkson’s charge. They’d suffered 92% losses in that fight, and it took everything Cain had to order them north as a forlorn hope against the enemy invasion force. He’d never seen a group of warriors that better deserved a rest. But he didn’t have anything to spare. Everyone would fight this last battle.

  He looked up at his tactical display. The enemy was close. His front line would be engaged any minute. He took a deep breath and reached for his rifle. “Hector, give me another stim.” He figured he’d be lucky if he didn’t need a liver-kidney regen by the time he was done mainlining uppers. But that didn’t seem very important at the moment. He felt the rush of energy, the alert feeling taking hold. Sometimes you didn’t know just how tired you were until you got a big shot of stims.