by Jay Allan
Anderson-112’s orders were clear. Under no circumstances was he to retreat. He knew his unit was to be sacrificed, that he was expected to fight until his regiment had been completely wiped out. He understood, and the conditioning worked at his mind, demanding compliance. But there was something else there, something deeper…from the other thoughts. Anger, outrage at seeing his men wasted so callously. He was sweating, despite the perfect climate control of his suit, and his hands were balled into armored fists. NO, screamed something inside him, something he couldn’t fully understand. But he realized he couldn’t just watch his men die, sacrificed to a lost cause.
He looked up at the tactical display. The Janissaries were slicing through his lines in half a dozen places. Soon it would be too late to pull back. His thoughts waged a war in his head, pulling him back and forth, between his conditioning and the borrowed memories of a Marine long dead. Slowly, despite his efforts to hold back, his hand activated the unit-wide com. “All forces, retreat at once. Pull back through the city immediately.” The words felt almost involuntary as they came out of his mouth, but he still repeated them. “All forces, retreat to the south of the city and regroup.”
All along the line, the Shadow troopers climbed up out of their foxholes and ran to the rear. The advancing Janissaries gunned them down as they fled, but the survivors kept going, ducking behind the cover of the buildings as they entered the city.
“Anderson-112, this is Command Central.” The voice was as monotone and without character as those of the rest of the Shadow troopers, but there was a sternness to it as well. “Your forces are conducting an unauthorized withdrawal. You are instructed to rally and advance back to your previous line.”
“No.” Anderson-112’s reply was soft but firm. He didn’t elaborate.
There was silence on the line. Then the same voice repeated the command. “Anderson-112, you are ordered to rally. Cease your retreat and hold your assigned defensive position.”
“I said no.” Anderson-112’s head had become a warzone, old memories rising out of the darkness…recollections that were somehow a part of him, though they weren’t his. They struggled with his conditioning, taking control. Whatever happened, he couldn’t see his men thrown away, their lives wasted for nothing. It was somehow…unthinkable, something he just couldn’t live with, whatever the consequences.
There was a long pause on the line. Then a gruff voice replaced the monotone droning. “Anderson-112, this is General Rafael Samuels. You are ordered to maintain your position.”
“No, General. I will not. My unit will be destroyed to no effect if I do.” His tone was respectful, but firm. He didn’t understand why, but he was resolved to see his men escape from this trap.
“Anderson-112, this is your last chance. Obey your orders now!” The anger of Samuel’s voice blasted out of the com.
“I’m sorry sir.”
There was a pause, ten seconds, perhaps 20. Anderson-112 was watching his forces run past him, fleeing into the cover of the city. He felt a pinprick on his neck, and his vision blurred almost immediately. His breathing became heavy, and in few seconds, he sank to his knees…then fell on his back. He didn’t understand how, but he knew he was dying. His heavy eyes panned over to the tactical display. He could see the blurry icons, his troopers. They were too far back now…there was no way to get them back on the line. They had taken heavy losses, but some of them would escape the deathtrap. He smiled. Some of them will survive, he thought.
He felt the other thoughts bursting out of their place in his mind. He imagined himself other places, fighting on steaming jungle worlds and on the glaciers of a frozen ice planet. There were other forces all around him, similar to his own men, but different too. And there was a flag…the banner his enemies carried. The standard of the Alliance Marine Corps. He slipped away, floating in a sea of a dead Marine’s dreams.
Cain walked down Astria’s main street toward the looming hulk of the Marine hospital, a pack of officers and guards following behind. The city was cluttered with the detritus of war, but the buildings themselves were mostly intact. The Marines had retreated right through the city, and now the Shadow forces had done the same.
He was glad as he gazed at some of the familiar sights. Bricks and mortar would never matter as much as the vast amount of blood that had been spilled, but it was somehow reassuring to see something recognizable survive. It was nice to believe you were fighting to preserve something, Cain thought darkly, even when you know it’s mostly bullshit.
The tide had definitely turned. Farooq’s Janissaries went into action immediately, and their savage attacks shattered the Shadow force’s lines, sending the invaders streaming back south toward the Sentinel. The lightning attacks were reinforced by the additional Janissary forces Ali Khaled brought down after Farooq’s vanguard.
The Shadow troopers were attempting to reform in the cover of the Sentinel. The wondrous forest had already been a battlefield, and thousands of its priceless, millennia-old trees had been battered into matchsticks. Now it looked like the scourge of war had made its way back to the vast natural wonder.
Cain was wondering how to finish the battle. Was he going to have to kill every last enemy soldier on the planet? They didn’t seem to react like normal human beings, subject to fear, to the realization of hopelessness. Would they rout if pressed hard enough? Would they surrender if certain death was their only other option? Or would they fight on mindlessly to the last man?
Their leadership didn’t seem to countenance surrender. Farooq’s and Carlson’s advancing forces had found thousands of wounded who’d been poisoned by their own AI’s when they were too badly hurt to retreat out of the path of the enemy. Would any force that murdered its own wounded accept that a battle was lost and surrender to prevent useless bloodshed? Cain doubted it profoundly.
Cain had fought many enemies, and he’d never been troubled by dispatching them in any way he could. He’d always considered each adversary slain one fewer left to kill his own people. But there was something about the Shadow forces, about his talks with Anderson-45, that made him queasy. The single enemy captive was so reasonable, so rational. He didn’t seem like an enemy. Cain knew it wouldn’t feel right to kill Anderson-45, even in the heat of battle. Were all the Shadow forces like him?
Sarah was back working with the prisoner, trying to unlock his conditioning. If she could find a way to truly understand Anderson-45, perhaps she could develop a method to reach the thousands like him…soldiers that were still fighting the Marines and Janissaries tooth and nail. It wasn’t just about the Shadow forces. It was going to cost thousands of lives to finish this battle, especially if they had to wipe out all the enemy soldiers on Armstrong. And Cain had seen enough of his people die.
Ali Khaled walked briskly toward the communications tent, clad in armor, his helmet fully retracted. He reached out his arm and pulled the flap open. “You have a communication for me from the orbital force?”
The com tech rose abruptly and bowed before the Janissary lord. “Yes, my Lord Khaled.”
Khaled was already waving off the formal greeting. “Yes, yes, there is no time for that.” He reached out and grabbed the headset, wrapping it over his ears and nodding to the nervous tech. “Put it through,” he snapped.
Khaled watched as the technician pressed a few buttons on his panel. “You are connected with Fleet Captain Yusef, sir.”
“Captain Yusef, this is Ali Khaled. What’s going on up there?” He paused, waiting out the brief delay that was an unavoidable part of ground-to-orbit communications.
“Greetings to you, Lord Khaled, and fortune to you and those who follow you.”
The captain responded with the formal greeting, but there was something wrong…Khaled sensed it immediately. He could hear it in the captain’s voice. “Yes, and good fortune to you as well.” Khaled stopped midway through the prescribed response. “We have no time to waste, Captain. What is happening up there?”
“Sir, we
have a large fleet inbound from the warp gate. We have identified fourteen capital ships…over 100 hulls in all so far.” There was fear in the captain’s voice, though he masked it well. But Khaled was a master at reading such things.
“Have you been able to identify them, Captain?” Maybe it was Garret, Khaled thought fleetingly. If he hadn’t gotten any of the communiqués Khaled and Abbas had sent, the Alliance admiral wouldn’t expect to find a Caliphate naval force in Armstrong’s system. He would likely consider them hostiles.
“Negative, sir. We’ve identified some of the vessels, however. Many are Alliance ships, but there are CAC, Caliphate, and PRC hulls as well.” There was a short pause then, “All vessels that were undergoing repairs at the Alliance’s Wolf-359 facility, my lord.”
Khaled’s heart sank. Stark, he thought grimly. Enemy reinforcements. “You must retreat at once, Captain. Your force will not have a chance against an enemy fleet of that size.”
“Negative, Lord Khaled. Admiral Abbas was clear that I am to remain here and provide orbital support to your forces.” Abbas had departed with most of the fleet after the Janissaries landed, searching for Admiral Garret and his forces.
Khaled sighed hard. Pointless gestures, he thought angrily…why is war so full of them? “Captain, listen to me. You will serve no purpose throwing away your command and the lives of your crew here.” Yusef had four cruisers and a dozen destroyer-equivalents. It wasn’t a time to be throwing away irreplaceable hulls and crews for no gain. “Get your ships out of here immediately. I will accept all responsibility with Admiral Abbas.” Khaled and Abbas were of approximately equal rank, though the Janissary lord had no official authority over fleet operations.
There was a long silence. “Sir, I don’t know if…”
“Now, Captain,” Khaled snapped, interrupting the stammering naval officer. He knew he was going to have to intimidate Yusef if he was going to save the 5,000 naval crew manning those ships. If they stayed, they would die for nothing. “I told you, I will accept all responsibility with Admiral Abbas.” He paused then added, “Do you really want to explain to the admiral why you refused my order?” A pointless argument…Khaled had no right to issue orders to Yusef. Besides, if the captain and his people stayed in the system, they’d never live to see Abbas again anyway. But Khaled was desperate.
“Uh…very well Lord Khaled.” Yusef sounded uncomfortable, but he was giving in.
“Transmit your full scanner data on the incoming fleet, and then get the hell out of here.” He paused for a few seconds. “Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
Khaled turned toward the com tech. “I want that data transmitted to me the instant you have it.” He stared at the sweating technician. “Understood?”
“Yes, Lord Khaled.”
“Very well.” He turned and walked out into the hastily cleared mud streets of the camp. Now I have to go find Erik Cain, he thought…and try to figure out what we’ve got coming at us.
He flipped on his com. “General Cain…Commander Khaled here.” He stifled a sigh. “We need to talk. Right now.”
Chapter 23
Red Hills
South of Arcadia City
Arcadia – Wolf 359 III
“The enemy is abandoning their position and pulling back in disarray, General.” Colonel Heath was staring out over the broken plain watching his Marines move forward. The fighting had been intense, the enemy forces continuing to resist, even after Heath’s Marines had outflanked their position.
“Well done, Colonel.” General Gilson’s voice was tired, strained. Her forces had been in action non-stop since they’d landed 3 weeks before, and everyone was exhausted. She had no idea where these enemy soldiers had come from, but they seemed almost without fear. Her forces repeatedly outmaneuvered them, but still they held, regardless of losses. They fell back from compromised positions, but only far enough to regroup. Then they kept on fighting, seemingly ignoring even crippling casualties. Only in the last day’s combat had their morale begun to fail, and savaged units started falling back in disarray. “Pursue them, Rod. Keep on their tail or they’ll just pull back and reorganize.”
“Yes, General.” Heath’s voice showed his excitement. His forces had advanced relentlessly, but the enemy maintained their order as they fell back. He’d almost lost hope the enemy would break. But now it felt like victory was truly possible. “We’ll be right on their asses.”
“That’s where I want you, Rod. I don’t want them to take a breath.” She paused then added, “Go get ’em. Gilson out.”
Heath stared out over the blasted terrain to the left. It looked like it had been a sparse area of woods once, or maybe an orchard, but the trees were gone now, blasted to kindling by the nonstop fighting. Only a few blackened trunks remained to offer a hint at what this ground had been before the armies came.
“Captain Zimmer, take your company to the left. Put some pressure on their flank.” Heath had been holding Zimmer’s people in reserve, but the enemy line was showing signs of solidifying, and that was the last thing he needed. Breaking the enemy’s lines and forcing them to retreat had been a costly exercise, not one he cared to see repeated. His job was to keep the pressure up, prevent the enemy from rallying or forming a strong defense. And that was turning out to be a 24/7 job.
“Yes, Colonel.”
Heath could hear the sounds of Zimmer’s people forming up behind him, even as the veteran captain acknowledged the order. Zimmer’s people had fought at Sandoval and at Sigma 4. They were veterans who’d marched relentlessly into the teeth of the First Imperium’s robotic legions. Heath was confident they could do the job here too.
Don’t underestimate this enemy, he thought…they are trained and equipped just like Marines, and they are clearly disciplined and courageous. “We’ve got them off balance now,” he muttered softly to himself, “but if we give them a chance, they’ll pull it together and come right back at us.”
He watched as Zimmer’s lead platoon swung around the flank and headed toward the enemy. There were a few shattered buildings along their route, probably where a small village or a good-sized farming operation had stood. Some cover, at least, Heath thought.
“Captain Linz, I want your people to hit the enemy line with grenades. One full spread per man. Keep their heads down while Zimmer’s people get into position.” Heath looked across at the enemy position. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispered softly, imagining his counterpart trying to pull his disordered units back together.
Heath’s Marines had something special. Something far more effective than the standard issue grenades…the newest weapons system from General Sparks’ miraculous laboratory. Sparks was still at Sigma-4, studying the ruins of the First Imperium facilities there. But he’d finished a limited number of his new thermobaric grenades and given them to General Gilson before her force left the frontier. And Gilson had given them to Heath.
“Yes, Colonel,” Linz snapped back. “Commencing fire at once, sir.”
Almost immediately, he heard the distinctive sounds of the grenade launchers. They each fired six shots, one after the other. The popping sounds were nearly synchronized, but not quite, as each squad fired off their spreads.
The grenades were a high-trajectory weapon, taking a few seconds to reach their targets. Heath was staring right at the enemy line when he saw the first bright flash. Then another…and another. In an instant, the entire enemy line was engulfed in massive, billowing flames. Inside the raging hell, he knew the temperature exceeded 3,500 degrees. Dozens of enemy soldiers died, roasted alive inside their suits. Others fell to the ground, imprisoned in disabled, partially melted armor.
Heath looked across the field in stunned surprise. Like most Marines, he tended to discount the usefulness of the grenade launchers built into every suit of armor…at least against other powered infantry. But watching Sparks’ thermobaric creations wreak havoc on the enemy changed his mind on the spot. They would be a tremendous addition to the Mar
ine arsenal once Sparks got back and put them into mass production. But Heath’s people had been assigned only two spreads each, all that were currently available, and he’d ordered Linz to save the last one for an emergency.
“Captain Zimmer, your people are to fire a single spread of thermobaric grenades targeting the last half klick of the enemy flank.” Linz’s attack had been so effective, he wanted to see what Zimmer’s people could do, focusing on a truly concentrated target area.
“Yes, sir.” Zimmer’s acknowledgement was immediate. “We’re in position and commencing fire now, sir.”
Heath could see the launches from Zimmer’s company, and a few seconds later, the enemy line was again engulfed in a nightmare of searing white fire. The attack was as effective as Linz’s, and the enemy was wavering in disorder over a kilometer of front.
Heath flipped the com to the unit command channel. “Captain Zimmer, Captain Linz…your strike forces are to advance immediately and assault the enemy line.” Heath stared out at the slowly fading hell he’d unleashed on the enemy position, and a small smile crossed his lips. The effectiveness of the grenade attack had created an opportunity. Yes, he thought. Time to hit them hard.
Kara stood in front of the Capitol, staring up at the building’s battered remains. The façade was still standing, but she could see that whole sections on the side and rear were gone. The fighting had been fierce throughout the city, but the enemy had made their last stand there. Hundreds of her people had died within 75 meters of where she stood. Half her army had been killed or wounded in the two weeks of seesaw fighting it had taken to liberate the capital, and nowhere had the combat been more desperate than where she was standing…and inside the shattered shell of a building in front of her.
