by Jay Allan
Sarah had spent most of her medical career serving in the big hospital on Armstrong. She'd certainly seen her share of horribly wounded men and women; Erik himself had come to her with both his legs gone and so poisoned by radiation he was too weak to move. But even he’d been stabilized before he got to her. The raw brutality of the field hospital had been quite a shock. She'd adapted to it during Operation Sherman, but none of those battles had approached the savagery or scale of this one.
Wounded were brought to the hospital stuck in the twisted wreckage of their armor. Before a doctor could even deal with their injuries, they had to be extricated from a suit that was designed to withstand direct hits from modern weapons. If the damage was bad enough to scrag the armor, they had to cut the trooper out with plasma torches. It was slow and dangerous, and many of the patients died while the techs were still struggling to get them free of mangled heaps of osmium-iridium alloy.
The sheer number of casualties coming through overwhelmed her exhausted med staff. They weren't even trying to treat the wounds anymore; they were just working to stabilize their patients and keep them alive until they could get back to them and finish the job. They had some portable med units with integral AIs, but they'd used all of them long ago. The partially treated men and women were now being lined up on the cold stone floor of the mine, stretching almost out of sight down the long tunnel.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath as she struggled to close a gaping chest wound. Not being able to evacuate anyone is killing us, she thought. How many more are going to die in this forsaken mine who would have lived with proper care? She had three medships with the transport fleet, each capable of handling over 1,000 wounded...2,000 in an emergency. But they'd withdrawn with the rest of the support ships now that an enemy battlefleet was bearing down on the planet. She couldn’t even send the wounded up before the transports left, because the skies of Carson’s World were swarming with enemy aircraft.
Admiral Compton had his hands full dealing with the incoming warships, but even if he won the fight that was coming, it was going to take days, maybe even weeks. So dealing with the wounded was going to remain Sarah's problem for the foreseeable future, and this bleak mine was going to have to suffice. General Holm’s frantic resupply operation had eased her logistical situation; she had enough medicines and other expendables, at least for the moment. And the volunteer medical staff from the hospital ships had been invaluable. She’d supplemented them by conscripting the walking wounded to assist in the hospital, freeing anyone with even a shred of medical training to treat incoming cases.
She’d originally had five aid stations set up on the surface as well, closer to the fighting, but the intensity of the battle had forced her to scale back to one secondary location. The general had assigned every transport and anti-grav sled he could spare to collect the wounded, but it was still taking way too long for most of them to get help.
The patient sprawled on the table before her had been dead for five minutes before she stopped her frantic efforts. Finally she jerked her hands from the chest cavity and turned away. This man could have lived, she thought, if I had the equipment I need. His heart and lungs had been severely damaged, but she could have kept him alive if she could have gotten him into a critical care med unit. Then she could have grown him a new heart and lung once they were back at Armstrong. But the crit care units she had were all in use, and he wasn’t the first soldier to die today because of that. With good nutrition and a few rejuv treatments he could have lived to 120 years or older. Instead, he died at 25, bleeding and broken on a miserable, dusty planet far from home.
She walked away from the table, struggling to hold back the tears. The frustration was welling up inside her. She wanted to be alone, to scream and cry and throw things. But there was nowhere she could be by herself…nowhere at all. Privacy was an unreal fantasy in the bustling field hospital. And she was in command, which meant she couldn’t lose it, not in front of these people. She could feel it every second, the constant burden, the unyielding pressure. She could feel the glances, the stares, as they looked to her for the strength and support they needed to go on.
She’d seen the stress of command and how it affected people. She’d watched what it did to Erik. How many times had she lain next to him at night, feeling him thrash around and listening to his nightmares? How many nights did she wake up to see him gone, up walking around or working at his desk because the sleep wouldn’t come? She knew she’d always have to share him with his ghosts. She’d watched General Holm too, and even Jax. It affected each of them in his own way, but it was always there. Command wasn’t a privilege or a reward to them; it was a responsibility, one they accepted with grave solemnity.
Now she had joined that club, and she finally understood what the pressure felt like. She thought of Erik and all the difficult situations he had led his troops through. How do you do this, love? How do you stay strong for them when all you want to do is run and hide?
Her introspection was interrupted. “Major Linden?” She noticed they called her major more often now that she was in command; before it had always been doctor, though she’d been just as much a captain then as she was a major now.
She turned around to find Lieutenant Bailey, one of the medical assistants, standing there. He was trying hard to look sharp and alert, but she could see the exhaustion in his eyes. She wondered what he could see in hers. “Yes, lieutenant?”
“Major, I think you should come.” He paused. “We have a high-ranking casualty, and she is being…ah…difficult.”
She motioned for him to lead her there. “Who is it?” She had let out a breath when he’d said “she.” For a second she thought it might be Erik.
“Major General Gilson.”
Gilson, she thought. Commander of 1st Division. Erik’s immediate superior. “Give me a status report.” Then, when he didn’t answer in an instant: “Now!”
“Yes Major.” She’d flustered him a bit, and he was trying to regain his focus. “She was hit in the chest and the left leg. She was very fortunate with the chest wound; it shattered two ribs, but didn’t cause any other major damage.” He motioned for her to walk around the corner toward one of the triage areas. “The leg wound is worse. It hit the artery, but her suit stopped the bleeding. Still, there is massive damage. Dr. Hollis isn’t sure if we can save the leg or should just amputate and regenerate.”
She was about to respond when they turned another corner and she saw the general laying on a table trying to sit up. Sarah ran the rest of the way and put her hands on Gilson’s shoulders. “General, please lie down. You won’t help anything if you rip open the dressings and bleed to death.” She slid around so Gilson could see her. “I’m Doctor Linden, sir. Chief of Medical Services. We’re going to take good care of you.”
“I remember you, major.” Gilson’s voice was strong and commanding, but she was clearly struggling with the pain. “As I was telling your doctor here, I need you to patch me up as quickly as possible so I can get back into the field.”
The rest of the staff looked shocked that this badly wounded woman was talking about going back to the battle, but Sarah had seen this type of personality before. In fact, when war and other circumstances allowed, she lived with one of them. Truth be told, if she would have admitted it to herself, she was one of them too.
“General, I understand that you do not wish to be away from your troops, but you are seriously wounded and…”
Gilson cut her off. “Major I am perfectly aware that I am wounded.” She shifted to face Sarah more directly, wincing in spite of her best efforts to suppress it. “But I have to get back, regardless of my condition. Even if I am dragged around in a cart.” She took another breath, gritting her teeth against the pain of her broken ribs. “General Slavin is dead.”
That puts Erik in command of the division, Sarah thought. He must be overwhelmed. “Colonel Cain is next in the chain of command, isn’t he? I’m sure he will take care of your people.�
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“1st Brigade is cut off and surrounded. The enemy is throwing two divisions at them. They’re com is being jammed, and the enemy have hit them with a nuclear barrage. That plateau is a nightmare. I don’t even know if Colonel Cain is still alive or how many of his people are still standing.”
Sarah willed herself to stand there, but her legs got weak, and her mind was reeling. She felt the breath sucked from her lungs as she listened to Gilson’s words, and she couldn’t force anything intelligible out of her mouth.
“Cain’s people are breaking up the entire enemy attack, forcing them divert more and more force to assault his position. I was leading an attempt to reestablish contact with him, but I got hit by a mortar round. My aide was killed, but I got lucky. We need to break through to 1st Brigade before they’re wiped out. I don’t even know the status of the attack right now.”
Sarah had to fight back the urge to help the general get up and back to the battle. Anything that would help break through and rescue Erik and his people. But it was just an irrational impulse that she quickly suppressed. Gilson would end up bleeding to death if she tried to do too much more than stay where she was.
“I’m sure General Holm will see that 1st Division is ably led.” Sarah had regained her focus, but her voice was tentative. “I’m afraid it is impossible for you to return to the battle, but I can arrange a comlink to the general so you can make sure the division is in good hands.” Sarah turned and yelled to one of her assistants. “I need a secure comlink to General Holm over here. Now!” She couldn’t get Gilson back to the front, but she could do her best to make sure the drive toward 1st Brigade was not interrupted.
A technician brought over a small com unit. Sarah put the headset on and spoke softly into the microphone. “Major Linden requesting immediate communication with General Holm.”
“General Holm is actively directing combat operations, major.” The voice was harried, tired. “This is Colonel Clark. Can I assist you? Is there a problem at the med facility?”
“Colonel, I have General Gilson here, seriously wounded.” Sarah’s voice was polite, but insistent. “She is very concerned about the status of 1st Division since she was hit.”
“I’m glad to hear she is there, Major.” Clark sounded relieved. “The general has had her people searching everywhere for her. We’ve had her listed as MIA.”
“Are you able to give her a status update on her division.” Sarah paused. “It would help us here. I need to get her settled down so I can treat her.”
“Yes, Major Linden, I am certain I can give the general a satisfac…” His voice grew faint; he was speaking to someone away from the microphone. Sarah could barely hear him saying, “Yes, sir,” when there was a rustling sound in her headset, and a new speaker came on.”
“Sarah? How are you holding up over there?” It was Holm. His voice was hoarse from overuse, and he sounded exhausted.
“We’re keeping it together, sir.” She took a quick breath. “Sir, General Gilson is very concerned about 1st Division’s operation to rescue 1st Brigade. She’s wounded, but she’ll be fine if she lets me treat her and stops trying to break out of here.”
“Everything is fine with 1st Division, Sarah. I’ll tell her myself, but first I want to tell you. Her attack hit the enemy forces assaulting 1st Brigade hard, forcing the enemy to divert more troops to the sector. It’s opened up a gap in their lines. I’m about to lead the British division myself straight through, then around to relieve 1st Brigade.” He paused, taking a short breath. “I’ll get him out of there, Sarah. Things are bad where he is - I won’t lie to you, but we both know he’s a survivor. And there’s no way I’m abandoning him. No way.”
Sarah felt the tears welling up again, and she struggled to force them back, with only partial success. “Thank you, sir. I know you won’t.”
“Now try to focus on your job. Getting Erik and his people off that plateau is mine.” He took another breath, deeper this time. “Now put General Gilson on, and I will assure her that her people are in good hands.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you again, general.” She pulled the headset off, twisting it to extricate a clump of her long hair that had gotten stuck. “General Gilson, General Holm wants to speak with you.” She helped Gilson get the headset on, then she walked slowly away.
“Please, general,” she whispered softly under her breath, sniffling and brushing away a tear. “Please bring him back to me.”
Chapter 20
Alliance-PRC Combined Fleet
Epsilon Eridani System
Approaching the orbit of Epsilon Eridani V
The enemy fleet had accelerated cautiously, far more slowly than Compton had expected. He’d delayed implementing the fleet deployment order then he had to modify it twice. He had no intention of letting the enemy pull him too far from planet four.
He was outnumbered. He’d known that much since Johan’s scoutships had flashed back their initial readings on the hostile fleet that had been hiding in the empty vastness of the outer system. Then things got worse, though that didn’t surprise him; things usually got worse in situations like this. More enemy squadrons fired their thrusters, joining those already detected as they moved ponderously into battle formation. His four battlegroups faced eight, which meant he was in serious trouble.
He’d match his ships one for one against any task force in the CAC navy, and more so against the less experienced Imperial and Europan crews. But two to one was a different story. Skill, experience, and tactics were paramount in an even battle, but all space combat was at least somewhat attritional in nature, and there was an inescapable mathematics that took over when one side had twice the hulls, twice the weaponry.
The Alliance forces had been outnumbered at Gliese 250, but not as badly as they were here. And at Gliese they’d had minefields and the massive space station bolstering the defense, advantages they lacked in Epsilon Eridani. They’d had one other weapon at Gliese…Fleet Admiral Augustus Garret. Compton was a gifted tactician and an experienced veteran. But he knew he couldn’t fill Garret’s shoes; no one could. Garret had been the greatest genius ever to lead a battlefleet in space. He was irreplaceable.
The enemy’s slow advance had at least allowed Captain Johan’s squadron to make good its escape. They’d been moving almost directly toward the enemy fleet when they detected it. They braked full, but even at 18g deceleration it took them some time to significantly change their vector. If the enemy had accelerated more aggressively, Johan’s people would have been caught in missile range of the enemy, which means they would have died. Now they were blasting off in a seemingly random direction, their vector taking them clear of the massive enemy fleet.
But that course was not random at all. Compton had flashed orders to Johan, relayed by laser communication through Cambrai. They were to flee, moving at maximum velocity until they cleared detection range of the enemy fleet. Then they were to loop around behind and scout the outer system more intensively. They fooled me once, Compton thought grimly. Never again. If there is anything else out there, we’re going to find it.
“Commander Simmons, all bomber crews are to man their ships.” Compton spoke the command matter-of-factly, but the order was an unexpected one.
“Sir? You want the bombers launching now?” Simmons usual composure momentarily failed. The admiral’s order was unorthodox and unexpected.
“I am not accustomed to repeating orders, commander.” It was a reprimand, but not a severe one. Simmons was an excellent officer. Besides, he thought, I surprised the hell out of him with that order.
“Yes, Admiral Compton.” Simmons switched to the fleetcom. “All ships are to bring bomber squadrons to full alert. Report launch readiness.” Simmons could not figure out what Compton intended. The fleet was moving slowly, and the launch platforms wouldn’t impart much intrinsic velocity to the bombers. And they were still way too far from the enemy to launch a strike.
“Joker, transmit operational order Straight Flush
to Commander Simmons’ board. Encryption code Mustang.” Compton had prepared the orders himself. No one else in the fleet, except of course Joker, knew the contents.
“Orders transmitted, admiral.”
“Commander, the orders Joker just sent to you are to be relayed to the bomber squadrons once they are ready to launch. The coding program will decrypt the orders once the squadrons are away.” Compton knew he was taking a big chance, but he had to gamble if he was going to have any chance to win this fight. But he didn’t need his crews worrying about it – and he didn’t want to take a security risk if there were CAC or Imperial spies onboard.
“Yes, sir.” Simmons was silent for a few seconds as his hands moved over his boards. “Orders downloaded to all squadrons, sir.” He snapped his report sharply, subconsciously compensating for his earlier unintentional insubordination.
“Very well.” Compton acknowledged, just as crisply. He was going to launch his bomber wings in twenty minutes. The plan was unconventional to say the least, but it might give him an edge. You’d be proud of me, Augustus, he thought. This is right out of your playbook. I hope you’re with me, old friend. I need you now more than ever.
Twenty-seven lightyears from Compton’s flagship, a small vessel accelerated toward a warp gate. Twenty-seven lightyears is an almost unimaginable distance by conventional reckoning, though of course such distances had become largely irrelevant since the discovery of warp gates.
The ship was scorched and pockmarked with battle damage, but it was basically intact. Inside, Jennifer Simon sat in the pilot’s acceleration couch, flying the ship with considerable help from the AI. Simon was a communications officer, not a pilot. But right now she needed to be a pilot.
