Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  He’d thought about keeping the truth from the crews, taking off for the Rim and inventing some cover story until he could figure out what to do. But that was never a workable plan. The fleet was riddled with informers and intelligence agents. He’d identified many of them, but he didn’t even try to fool himself…there was no way he’d found them all. The trouble started the instant he took out the incoming vessels, the ones carrying his executioners. He addressed the fleet immediately afterward, but things quickly deteriorated into civil war.

  Most of the crews backed Abbas and Khaled. They had gone to the farthest reaches of explored space under these men…and saved all mankind from destruction in the process. When their loyalties were put to the test, they followed the officers who’d led them in combat, the ones who’d brought them back from the apocalypse of war with the First Imperium. But a significant minority, manipulated and driven forward by the implanted intelligence operatives, remained loyal to the Earth government, and the officers of this faction attempted to take control of the fleet. There was fighting on every ship…and later between vessels controlled by opposing factions.

  It was over now, all but some residual mopping up. Abbas had ordered the captured intelligence operatives shot, but he didn’t know what to do with the thousands of crew members now in makeshift brigs all over the fleet. They were still his people, and their only crime was remaining loyal to their oaths. His ships were understaffed, and he wished he could just release them all and send them back to their posts. But that was impossible. They had taken up arms against him. There was no way he could trust them again, however much he understood their justifications. But he wasn’t going to just line them up and shoot them. That was unthinkable.

  He flipped a switch on the arm of his chair. “Lord Khaled, we need to discuss some matters. Are you available now?”

  “Yes, admiral.” Khaled sounded harried, exhausted…anything but available. “I am in conference room B. Please join me when convenient.”

  “Very well, Lord Khaled. I am on my way.” Abbas knew there was nothing convenient about any of it. The Janissary commander was busy coordinating his men throughout the fleet as they stamped out the last rebel elements. Abbas couldn’t even imagine the bloodshed that would have occurred if Khaled’s troops hadn’t intervened. More closely matched, the naval crews would have savaged each other. But when a naval officer with a sidearm ran into an armored Janissary, it was over pretty quickly. It was the elite infantry more than anything that broke the morale of the loyalist crews, and gave Abbas thousands of prisoners to deal with…instead of a fight to the finish that would have left many more dead on each side.

  Abbas rose slowly and turned toward the doorway leading to the main corridor, bound for the conference room where Khaled had set up his makeshift headquarters. He forced back a sigh as he heard the clomping sounds of his bodyguards falling in behind him.

  Ali Khaled was staring at the monitor as he listened to Farooq’s report. Commander Farooq was one of his senior officers, a hero of the First Imperium War. He was on the battleship Ming, standing in one of the landing bays. “Ming is nearly secured, sir.” The capital ship had seen some of the worst fighting in the fleet. Her second-in-command had been an officer named Wei Chin. Unknown to Abbas, Wei Chin had also been a senior intelligence operative. He killed the captain almost immediately and assumed command. It took hours of savage deck to deck fighting to reclaim the vessel. Wei was killed early in the battle, but scattered elements had continued the struggle, only yielding when Farooq’s Janissaries arrived and turned it from a battle into a slaughter.

  “Very well done, commander.” Khaled tried to keep the fatigue from his voice, but the result was mixed at best. “Who is in command of the vessel?” The captain had been murdered by the first officer, who had then been killed in the fighting, and Khaled had no idea who was on the bridge.

  “Lieutenant Yang, sir.” There was a touch of doubt in the Janissary commander’s voice. “I believe he was fifth in the chain of command.” Farooq paused for a few seconds. “The second officer sided with Commander Wei, and he is now captive along with the rest of the loyalist forces. Lieutenant Commander Shin was fourth in command, but he was killed in the fighting.”

  “Very well.” Ming was one of the CAC’s biggest capital ships, and Khaled had more than a few doubts about such a junior officer commanding her. Especially not when there was bound to be more tension among the crews. That’s not your problem, he reminded himself…what do you know about commanding spaceships? “I will update Admiral Abbas.” And see if he is comfortable with a lieutenant commanding a battleship.

  “Update Admiral Abbas about what?” The admiral walked through the just-opened hatch, his Janissary escort hot on his heels. The elite soldiers snapped to rigid attention at the sight of Khaled.

  “Carry on, Commander Farooq.” Khaled was still speaking into the com. “Advise me when you have completed operations on Ming.” Khaled terminated the connection almost immediately, cutting off Farooq’s perfunctory response halfway through. He turned to face Abbas. “Hello admiral.” He forced a modest smile. “Ming is nearly secured. As you know, Commander Wei is dead, and most of the rebels…” – he wasn’t sure that was the right word – “…have surrendered.” He paused. “A Lieutenant Yang is in command. I’m afraid all the senior officers were either killed, or they sided with the insurgents.” Another odd designation, Khaled thought…by most conventional definitions, we are the revolutionaries, aren’t we?

  “Yang?” Abbas paused, taking a second to place the name among the hundreds of officers in the fleet. “Fifth echelon?” He exhaled with considerable force. “Four senior officers dead or in revolt.” It was a statement, not a question. “I’m glad the news isn’t this bad on every ship.” He walked over and sat, facing Khaled at an angle across the table.

  “No.” Khaled nodded, his tone slightly less grim. “I’d have to say we were quite lucky overall. Ming was the only capital ship where the issue was seriously in doubt. It appears that Commander Wei was the highest-placed intelligence operative in the fleet, and he was able to create considerable mayhem. The forces on the other ships were mostly disorganized and relatively easily suppressed.” They both sat silently for several moments, reflecting on the heavy losses even on the vessels that had been quickly pacified.

  Khaled broke the long silence. “So, Admiral…” He looked intently at Abbas. “…we have a pressing matter to discuss.” He took a breath. “What do we do next?”

  Chapter 26

  Columbia Defense Force HQ

  Weston City

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  Jed Lucas was exhausted. The med system in his outdated armor wasn’t as sophisticated as the units on state of the art fighting suits, but it still had a decent selection of uppers designed to keep an exhausted soldier fighting until the battle was over. The army was rationing supplies, and he’d been trying to conserve on his stims. However bad he felt, he knew things were likely to get worse before they got better. But now he tapped the small button to the side of his finger and administered a heavy dose. The enemy would be coming again soon, and he had to stay alert. If he walked into fire and got himself killed, the meds he’d saved wouldn’t do him much good.

  The Columbians were still pumped up from their small victory. They’d been retreating since the invasion began, but now they were back in their pre-prepared positions just outside Weston. The enemy had gotten careless and pursued them right up to the entrenchments. That attack turned into a bloody repulse all along the line, and the enemy fell back 5 klicks to regroup. It was a momentary respite, not a lasting victory, but he was grateful for the morale boost it gave his battered soldiers.

  The enemy had reinforcements available and an advantage in equipment, supplies, and overall numbers. Lucas knew they’d be back in greater strength with a properly executed attack. Then his forces would be defeated…it was simple inevitability.

  The invaders had every advantage
except one. Lucas and the rest of the Columbians were defending their homes. That meant a lot, but it wasn’t everything. Not when the enemy had the edge in training, weapons, armor, and logistics. The relentlessness of mathematics can be bent in warfare, but never broken.

  “Sergeant Lucas.” The voice of Captain Charles burst loudly through the com. Charles’ voice sounded odd…edgy, nervous, but also surprised. “I need you to prepare your forces.” Lucas was commanding the remnants of his initial company, plus the remains of two others. “The enemy is preparing to launch another attack.” Charles paused for a few seconds, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. “When they are one kilometer from your position you are to withdraw through Weston to the western perimeter of the city.”

  Retreat? Lucas’ mind was reeling. He didn’t think his people could hold here indefinitely against the enemy’s massive superiority, but to simply give up the strongest position they had…and the capital as well? It didn’t make sense. “Sir?” Lucas was still trying to absorb what Charles had just said. “Our position here is strong, sir. Are you…”

  “Your orders are to pull back, Sergeant. As soon as the enemy is one kilometer from your position. Until that point, you are to maintain full fire.” Charles hesitated again, just for an instant. “This is a Code Black operation, sergeant.” Another pause, equally short. “As a precaution, you are to observe Code Orange protocols when you occupy your new position.”

  Lucas felt his chest tighten. Code Black…they were going nuclear. And Code Orange…his forces were to prepare for the likely atomic counter-attack.

  “Yes, sir.” His response was simple, direct. It was all he could manage. All hell was about to break loose.

  Private White was firing small, targeted bursts. The enemy was still 3 kilometers out, and he was starting to worry about ammunition. He’d expected to be resupplied when the company pulled back to Weston, but there’d been nothing. Not a single cartridge. Paine had been on the com with Sergeant Lucas, and even Captain Charles, but he’d gotten nothing but senseless doubletalk. Something was up, but neither Paine nor White had any idea what it was.

  White had been about to chew his way up the line of command, but Paine managed to control his friend’s anger. For the moment. Reg White had been a sergeant a month before – the third time he’d reached that rank – but a nasty piece of insubordination got him busted back down to private again. It’s a shame he can’t control himself better, Paine thought, not for the first time. White was a natural soldier, but he was also his own worst enemy.

  White was crouched next to Paine, continuing to fire intermittent bursts with the heavy auto-cannon. The attack was coming in force, he was sure of that. The enemy had been hasty last time, and they got a bloody nose for their carelessness. But they were well trained and led…they wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. White knew he and his comrades would make the attackers pay and pay hard, but in the end he doubted they could repulse them again. There were just too many of them, and they were too well trained and equipped. It might take a few assaults, but they’d force the Columbians back through Weston…and the capital would fall, just like it did during the rebellion. That wasn’t the end of the matter then, Paine thought defiantly, and it won’t be now, though final victory in the rebellion had ultimately depended on the intervention of the Marines…and these troops they were fighting looked a lot like those same Marines.

  “They’re two klicks out, Reg.” Paine broke his line of thinking. His voice was a little softer than usual. The trauma control system had his wound packed and stabilized and the pain well controlled. Still, getting half your shoulder shot off was a hell of a shock to the body no matter how many pharmaceuticals the suit pumped into you. He had his monitor set to scan the approaching enemy while White concentrated on picking out individual targets.

  “Roger that, Tone.” The two of them worked seamlessly as a team, communicating almost telepathically. “I’ll switch to full auto at one klick.”

  “Corporal Paine, you are to withdraw when the enemy is one kilometer from your position.” It was Sergeant Lucas’ voice, coming in a second after White’s. “You will fall back through Weston to designated positions west of the city. Code Black and Orange protocols are in effect. Confirm.”

  Paine hesitated. We’re retreating again, he thought…without even putting up a fight? And going nuclear?

  “Corporal!” Lucas’ voice was loud, sharp. “Acknowledge receipt of orders!”

  “Uh…yes, sergeant. Acknowledged.”

  The command line went dead. Paine turned slowly, flipping his com back to White’s line. “Hey Reg…you’re not going to believe this shit.”

  Tyler was silent, standing in the middle of the control center. His gray uniform was dark and featureless, and the cold stare of his eyes froze anyone who returned his glance. Everyone knew now what he was going to do, though most had just found out. Tyler had been planning this for the last few days, but he’d kept it to himself.

  Columbia’s dictator hadn’t consulted with his officers or staff. He’d been mostly locked in his office since the landings, issuing dozens of orders and staring at maps and OBs around the clock. He knew his army couldn’t beat the massive invasion force…at least not unless they were prepared to fight with everything they had. Everything. Despite the consequences.

  “General, the enemy is one kilometer from the defensive line.” Anne Stillson was trying to disguise her tension, with sharply limited success. The lieutenant had proven to be a capable aide, but Tyler had gone someplace dark, and she recoiled when she tried to follow. She knew the odds, that Tyler’s way was the only one that offered any real hope of victory, but at what cost?

  “Very well, lieutenant.” Tyler’s voice was cold as stone. “All units are to retreat immediately.”

  “Yes, general.” She paused for a few seconds. “The army is retiring as ordered, sir.”

  Tyler stared at the map of the Weston area displayed on the main screen. His eyes were focused, his body as unmoving as stone. He hoped the units on the line executed their orders promptly. The entire operation was planned on a knife’s edge, with no time for mistakes. His eyes fixed on the display, but he wasn’t seeing anything. He was just waiting, trying to keep extraneous thoughts at bay. He didn’t tread this road willingly, nor without doubts. But he was sure it was the only option. The alternative was a slow and grinding defeat, and the loss of Columbia’s freedom. And Jarrod Tyler would see his people buried in the ashes of their world before he would abandon them to slavery and oppression.

  He turned his head slowly, deliberately. “Captain Crillon, you may begin.”

  “All guns, prepare to fire.” Lieutenant Kebble’s battery was hidden in the Village of Glaston. A small cluster of houses ten kilometers outside Weston, it was in every way an unexceptional place. Every way except the 8 nuclear-armed guns of Kebble’s battery hidden under tarps and camouflage netting.

  His troopers had been sitting around their guns, waiting for the orders. Their mood was grim. They knew what they were about to unleash…and what the enemy’s response was likely to be. Now those orders had finally come.

  “Primary target selections confirmed.” Kebble’s voice was raw, scratchy.

  The gun crews rushed into action, pulling the netting away and entering final launch codes. One by one, the sergeant in charge of each gun confirmed readiness.

  Kebble just stood and nodded as he got the last confirmation. He flipped his com to the HQ line. “Captain Crillon…all weapons are armed and loaded. Ready to fire on your command.”

  There was a brief pause. Kebble imagined Crillon turning, looking over at General Tyler for the final authorization.

  “You may fire when ready, lieutenant.” Crillon spoke slowly, clearly. This was not the time for a misunderstanding.

  “Yes, sir.” He turned and panned his eyes slowly, staring briefly at each of the eight guns as he switched back to the unitwide com. “All guns…” He paused, turning to lo
ok forward, toward the city of Weston. He lived there. His son had been born there. He’d been driven out during the rebellions and returned triumphantly when that war was won. Weston was one of the finest cities in colonized space, cosmopolitan and graced with some of the most beautiful architecture anywhere off of man’s home world. Now he was going to destroy it. He took a deep breath, struggling to find his voice. “Fire.”

  Jack Worth was flat against the ground, hoping for the best. The first two blasts had been almost simultaneous. He’d been looking away, which was the only reason he still had his sight. His survival prospects didn’t look that good as they were, but blind they would be almost non-existent. Burned out retinas weren’t exactly an injury you slapped a bandage on and went back into the fight, and regeneration would take weeks. Worse, the only hospital on Weston that could perform the procedure was now on fire at least, and more likely a pile of molten slag.

  Worth stared straight into his now-shielded visor, wondering who had gone nuclear. He’d ranged far beyond his designated area of operations, working his way around the enemy flank, hoping to take out as many senior officers as he could. It was a dangerous tactic, one that ran against his usual meticulous patience. But he knew the odds his comrades faced, and the only way he could make a meaningful difference in the fight was to try to chew up the enemy high command.

  If the enemy had nuked the positions around Weston, there wasn’t a doubt in Worth’s mind that General Tyler would respond in kind. That made Worth’s position near the outskirts of the enemy HQ a very unhealthy place to be. But where could he go?