Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  He flew the gunship just above the mob, but the fire from the squadron was sporadic…and nothing at all from his own craft. “I said commence fire, Sergeant!” His tone was sharp and angry.

  He heard the quad autocannons open up, spraying the mob with 4,000 rounds per second. On the ground, the helpless Cogs died in their thousands, bodies torn to shreds by the heavy 20mm rounds. The crowd panicked, a million terrified Cogs running in every direction, fleeing the death raining down from above.

  Marston smiled as he brought the gunship around for another run. He repositioned, lining up the run over the densest group. “Fire!” he screamed. Nothing. “Fire,” Marston repeated. Still nothing. He turned around and opened his mouth to yell again when he froze. Sanger was staring right at him, a pistol in his extended hand.

  “No, sir.” Sanger was in tears. “We’re not going to massacre any more of these people.”

  “Sergeant, you will put that gun away at once and follow my orders.”

  “No, Captain…I won’t.” Sanger stared back at the enraged officer. His hand was shaking, but he didn’t back down. “We’re not murdering anymore people.” Marston was from the Political Class, but his crew were all Cogs.

  Marston looked at the other two crew members. “Arrest the sergeant immediately.” No one moved.

  “I order you to arrest Sergeant Sanger! Corporal Fring! Corporal Javin!” Marston was apoplectic with rage, but the two crewman just sat at their stations.

  Marston felt the rage boiling over. He lunged from his chair toward Sanger, reaching for the pistol. The sergeant stared right into his eyes and fired twice, both shots slamming into his chest. The stunned captain fell back against the controls, blood pouring from the two wounds.

  He reached his hand out behind him, vainly struggling to grab the controls, but he had no strength. The ship spiraled out of control and slammed into the ground, erupting into a large fireball.

  The crowd cheered as the gunship came down, thousands running toward the crash site. Thousands more stood transfixed, looking up into the sky as each of the gunships in turn spiraled out of control, their Cog crews following Sanger’s example and killing or disabling their Political Class officers.

  Two of the crews managed to take the controls and bring their craft down safely. The other ten crashed hard…and as each one slammed into the ground the mob howled with feral satisfaction.

  Chapter 28

  North of Astria

  Planet Armstrong

  Gamma Pavonis II

  “General Holm…it really is you.” Cain couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “It’s so good to see you.” He jogged the last few meters toward the Commandant. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here, sir.”

  Cain felt like he’d been punched in the gut when the scanners picked up landers coming in a full day ahead of projections. His people were still pushing the enemy back toward the Graywater, and they needed every second of that day to have any chance to face a new invasion force. Then, he got the report he couldn’t believe. The troops coming down were Alliance Marines, not Shadow Legions. And the biggest shock of all…General Holm was in command.

  “It’s good to see you too, Erik.” Holm could hear the exhaustion in Cain’s voice, the hopelessness. No one except Sarah Linden knew Erik Cain as well as Holm. “From what I’m hearing, Armstrong is going to occupy a place of honor in your battle history.” He paused. “Seriously, Erik…you’ve done a tremendous job here.”

  Cain looked down at the ground. “Another bloodbath…that much, at least, fits my profile.” He sighed and glanced back up a t Holm. “But how did you get here, sir? We had a report of enemy transports inbound.”

  Holm was going to respond to the bloodbath remark, but he caught himself. He’d known Cain long enough to realize there was no way to change his point of view. Erik would blame himself for the losses while resisting any credit for holding out against overwhelming enemy forces. It was just how he was wired.

  “We came in from Kruger-60…a lot closer to the planet than the enemy’s entry point. Camille Harmon is fighting the enemy fleet as we speak, and we made a run with the transports to get here as quickly as we could.”

  “Well, I still can’t believe it is you, General.” Cain’s voice was a mix of confusion and relief. “But I’m sure glad you’re here.”

  “It looks like you already got some help.” Holm had been surprised to find Janissaries fighting on Armstrong. “How did that happen?”

  “Long story, sir. The short version is, the Caliphate tried to execute most of its top field commanders on jacked up treason charges. Ali Khaled and Admiral Abbas took the fleet and the Janissary corps renegade and fled Caliphate space.” Cain’s voice was matter-of-fact, despite the bizarre nature of the story. “Apparently, they spent a considerable time trying to find Admiral Garret and, when they were unable to locate him, they decided to intervene on one of the worlds where we were fighting.” He paused and allowed himself a tiny smile. “I believe they came to Armstrong instead of Arcadia or Columbia by sheer luck, sir. Perhaps the Caliphate version of a coin toss.”

  “Well, it looks like they got here just in time, Erik.”

  Cain let out a long breath. “That is an understatement, sir. The Janissaries really saved us. It was a miracle.” He turned his head, looking off to the south. “We’d all be dead by now if they hadn’t come…” – his voice became grimmer – “…and they’re still bearing the brunt of the battle as we speak. My people are worn down to their last strength.”

  “Well, Erik, I’ve got Cate Gilson and 5,000 Marine veterans with me.” Holm offered Cain a smile. “So let’s get them into the fight before Khaled and his boys finish things without us.”

  “Everyone is exhausted and low on supplies, Commander Bayram.” Farooq’s voice was raw, harsh. They had the enemy on the run, but if they gave the Shadow forces any respite at all, Farooq knew they’d slip across the Graywater and reform. That would prolong the battle indefinitely. “Do not trouble me with excuses. You are to attack again. Immediately. And again, if necessary, but you are not to stop until you reach the river.” Farooq was crouched behind one of the massive trees. He’d moved too far forward, as he often did, and the enemy fire was heavy. “If you feel that you are incapable of executing my commands, tell me now so I can replace you with someone who knows how to follow orders. Do you understand me?” Farooq knew they had a chance to end the Armstrong bloodbath if they pushed hard enough, and he wasn’t about to let lackluster commanders throw the opportunity away.

  “Yes,” came the sullen reply. “I understand, sir.” Bayram was not Farooq’s favorite officer, not by a longshot. He considered the orta commander to be lazy and a poor example for his men. Bayram wasn’t exactly a coward; not even Farooq would say he was. But he was insufficiently audacious by Farooq’s fanatical standards. He shrunk from challenges and lacked the aggressiveness of his more capable peers. He preferred simpler, safer strategies, and he never understood the time and place for bold action.

  “Then see to your duties, Commander.” Farooq cut the line. His eyes moved to the tactical display projected inside his visor. His forces were less than 2 kilometers from the river on the left of the line, and General Merrick’s command on the extreme right was even closer. In another few minutes, the enemy would be penned in…pressed up against the river with no alternate escape route. Then it would be time for the final push.

  The opportunity would be extraordinary but also brief. The enemy infantry was fully armored, and they could cross the Graywater submerged if they had to, making their way slowly across the bottom to the south bank. But their retreat would be delayed by the crossing…and the Marines and Janissaries would have a chance to hit them hard while they were disordered and backed up on the riverbank.

  Farooq flipped his com to the general frequency. “Attention all units.” He spoke Arabic, but the Marines under his command heard perfect English, courtesy of their AIs. “We have driven the enem
y back over a hundred kilometers from our last ditch defense line…through the streets of Astria…from one end to another of the Sentinel.” His volume was rising slowly as he spoke. “Now we find ourselves at the moment of truth. The enemy is trapped against the river, exposed to our attack.”

  He pulled his rifle out of the harness as he spoke, sliding a clip into the magazine and prepping the weapon for action. He was about to order the final attack, and one thing was absolutely certain. He was going in with the troops.

  “The time is now. Now. We either give all we have to the battle, or we watch our enemy, so closely pursued, so hard fought, slip away across the river. It is up to us, my soldiers. We attack the enemy now…or we watch them regroup and reform. Then this battle will go on for months, and thousands more of our comrades will die.”

  Farooq felt the tension in his legs, the impulse to lurch forward and run into battle. “Marines and Janissaries…the plan is simple. Attack! Throw yourselves at the enemy! Drive them into the river! And don’t stop until the war on Armstrong is won!”

  Farooq thrust himself forward, running through the thinning trees and into the band of open plain between the forest and the river…the ground Erin McDaniels’ Obliterators had consecrated with their blood weeks before, when the battle on Armstrong was young.

  “Attack. Janissaries…Marines…attack! Follow me!”

  “The battle here is lost, General.” Stark was staring at Rafael Samuels, his eyes as cold and deep as space itself. “It would appear that the Alliance naval forces in the system have driven Admiral Liang away…along with our reinforcements.”

  Samuels stared back, expending every ounce of courage he could muster to meet Stark’s withering gaze. “We still have considerable forces under arms.” He was reaching, and he knew it. There was, indeed, a large body of troops still in the field, but they were scattered and disorganized. They had lost three-fourths of their number, and the survivors were broken. None of Samuels’ units remained combat effective, and there was no chance the Marines and Janissaries were going to allow them time to regroup.

  “No, General. There is no time.” Stark’s voice was calm, not at all what Samuels had been expecting. “The battle is lost, and if we do not act immediately, the survivors will be captured.”

  Samuels understood immediately. He’d reluctantly followed the directive to terminate the badly wounded, though as he saw the troops continue to fight so steadfastly and obediently, he regretted the policy. They deserved better. But now Stark was talking about murdering 15,000 of his soldiers…survivors of one of the toughest battles ever fought. “Sir…”

  Stark’s eyes bored into Samuels’ like lasers. “Do you have a way to get them off-planet, General?” He paused, continuing when Samuels didn’t respond. “So what do we do then? Allow them to be captured and studied by the enemy? Do you wish to face another clone army? Do you want the enemy to discover weaknesses in the Shadow troops and use them against us? Do you want the enemy to figure out how to undo our conditioning?” He paused then added, “Do you think the people we are fighting are stupid, General? Do you think they will fail to exploit opportunities that we give them?”

  Samuels stood stone-still, staring back wordlessly at Stark. The spymaster’s logic was flawless, his justifications for massacring his own soldiers utterly logical. But there was more to consider than just simple facts. Those men had earned better treatment. They had fought bravely, and almost 3 out of 4 had been left behind, dead on the field.

  “No answers. Just as I expected.” Stark’s voice was still calm, but there was a hint of disgust there now. “As with all who make their decisions based on arbitrary morality and emotion, you cannot respond with facts.” Stark paused for perhaps ten seconds. “So, General, if you have nothing of substance to offer to the discussion, kindly give the order.”

  Samuels felt the urge to resist, to refuse Stark’s command. But he knew he was inextricably tied to his psychopathic master. There had been a time when he’d had the chance to escape, he thought, but it was long past. There was nothing left of General Rafael Samuels, Commandant of the Marine Corps…nothing but the craven creature standing before Gavin Stark, doing his bidding. He tried to hold back the tears he felt welling up in his eyes as he muttered the command to his AI. “Execute clean sweep.” It was just one more treachery for him, and not the worst. Samuels wished he could go back and do things differently, but he had chosen his path, and now he was stuck with it.

  “Thank you, General.” Stark spoke softly, almost sympathetically.

  Samuels couldn’t remember the last time the Shadow commander had sounded so reasonable. He turned his head, trying to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks. All across the battlefield, the Shadow legions, his soldiers, were dying, poisoned by their own AIs on his order.

  “Go, General.” Stark’s voice…still sounding almost sympathetic. “Take some time to yourself. I know that was difficult.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Samuels saluted and turned around, walking slowly back toward his tent. He was still surprised by Stark’s empathy.

  Take all the time you want, General, Stark thought as he watched Samuels walk away. He pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed one of the buttons. He smiled as he saw Samuels stop in his tracks, hesitating for a few confused seconds before he fell forward, his immense, armored bulk dropping hard to the ground.

  Stark put the controller back in his pocket and stared at Samuels’ body. “That’s the reward for failure, General.” He turned and walked slowly away. “One you richly deserved.”

  One less loose end, he thought with grim satisfaction. Now for Erik Cain.

  “It was the same here as on Arcadia.” Holm spoke, the shock clear in his shaken voice. “But there were so many more of them here. There must have been 15,000 enemy troops still standing…and they murdered them all?” He turned to face Cain. “What kind of enemy kills its own soldiers in such numbers? Especially after they fought the way they did here.”

  “I can’t understand it, sir.” Cain paused. He knew he wasn’t being completely honest with Holm. In truth, the more he thought about it, the less unexpected he found it. Stealth and secrecy was enormously important to the enemy, and he understood why Stark employed such draconian policies. He was angry that he’d allowed himself to be surprised at all at what Gavin Stark would do to win the war…and ashamed that he understood their enemy’s motivations so well. But he lied to Holm, unwilling to risk the general thinking less of him. The Commandant was genuinely shocked at a type of evil he couldn’t comprehend. But Cain could.

  He was beginning to wonder how much difference there really was between him and Gavin Stark. He’d never murdered his wounded soldiers, but he had sent Clarkson’s Obliterators on a suicide mission…an attack he knew few, if any, of them would survive. Others saw the difference between those acts clearly, but the distinction was blurring for Cain. He knew he had as much blood on his hands as Stark did, and the only difference was that his cause was just, and Stark’s wasn’t. How many mass-murderers, he wondered sadly, have justified their actions in exactly that way? Morality had always been a pliable concept to most men, malleable enough to justify desired actions while condemning those of adversaries.

  “At least you managed to take some live prisoners, Erik. How many did you get in total?”

  “Ten, sir. Plus Anderson-45.” Cain welcomed a change of subject, however slight. “I’ve had everyone on alert to get wounded soldiers out of their armor immediately.” He paused, casting his gaze toward the ground. “But the prisoners are in rough shape, sir. They were wounded already, and the men had to cut them out of their suits with blades.” His tone darkened. “We’ll be lucky if half of them survive.”

  “They’d all be dead if your people hadn’t gotten to them, Erik.” Holm reached out and put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I know you’re beating yourself up, but you did one hell of a good job here, son. Our profession demands sacrifice. You may send those men and w
omen into the firestorm, but you didn’t create it. You didn’t cause this war…or any of the others you’ve fought. Somebody has to stand against people like Gavin Stark, or mankind will plunge into a dark age that would make today’s Alliance seem like utopia.”

  “I know, sir.” Cain sighed. “But I’ve lost so many. How many people can one man kill and not be evil?”

  “You don’t kill them, Erik. You lead them into difficult situations.” Holm paused. “OK, sometimes you send them into the fire, but you do what has to be done.” Holm knew Cain had an easier time when he went in with his Marines. Sitting back in HQ and sending a unit on a hopeless mission tore him apart. But sometimes there just wasn’t a choice. It was part of his duty now that he wore stars on his shoulders and not a sergeant’s stripes. But he had never full accepted that fact.

  Cain was about to reply when Merrick walked up with Ali Khaled and Commander Farooq. With the conclusion of the fighting, they had all shed their armor, enjoying the fresh air while their suits were refurbished and reloaded. Merrick was wearing the same Marine-standard fatigues as Holm and Cain. The Janissary commanders were clad in their considerably more ornate off-duty uniforms.

  “Cate Gilson’s handling the wrap up, sirs.” Merrick snapped off a quick salute to Holm and Cain, and he offered the Janissary commanders a respectful bow. “The last of the wounded are on the way to the main field hospital. It appears there are no live enemy troops remaining on Armstrong.” His voice softened. “Still no new prisoners, sir. Two of the ones we had died, but Sarah told me she thought she could save the others. That makes nine, including Anderson-45.”

  “How is Anderson-45 doing, Isaac?” Cain turned his glance to Merrick.

  “He’s good, sir. He’s great physically…and Sarah was making substantial progress breaking down his conditioning, at least before she had to get back to the hospital to deal with the wounded from the final push.” He hesitated then added, “I think we might get through to him. I don’t relish the thought of starting from scratch with the others, but I think Anderson-45 will prove to be very helpful.”