Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  Teller fell in beside Cain. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do.” He paused. “Still, so many people are dying. It’s hard to believe it’s come to this.” Teller had his own grudge against the Alliance’s government and the entrenched politicians who ruled with an iron fist, but he wasn’t as absolute in his hatred of all things Earth as Cain. His childhood had been a difficult one, but not as horrific as the nightmare his friend had survived.

  Erik Cain had seen his family expelled from their home and cast into a violent urban wasteland. His father, mother, and sisters had been brutally murdered, and he’d been left to survive alone on the streets when he was eleven. The Corps had found him in his death chamber, convicted by an unjust court and facing imminent execution.

  The woman he loved had survived a similar ordeal, brutalized and forced to flee with a price on her head, compelled to survive in the crumbing belts of ancient, almost-abandoned suburbs surrounding the Alliance’s cities. She had suffered things she still found it difficult to speak of, even with him.

  For all the empathy and loyalty he could show those close to him, there was a side of Cain capable of incredible coldness. He had turned his back on his homeworld, and that was the last word as far as he was concerned. The judgment had been made, the die cast. He blamed Earth and its people for the horrors he and Sarah – and millions of others – had endured, and didn’t care if they were careening toward their doom.

  The hatch to the bridge slid open as he stepped forward, and he entered the tiny control center. The captain sat in the center of the room, overseeing three other officers manning their posts. Ben Jennings was a decorated officer of the Martian Confederation’s navy, a combat veteran with years of experience. Cain knew Jennings should be skippering a Martian battleship, not ferrying a handful of once, and hopefully future, Marines around, hunting one man.

  But that man was Gavin Stark, the former head of Alliance intelligence and the commander of the Shadow Legions, a brilliant psychopath determined to seize power over all mankind. Vance understood Cain’s need for vengeance. Elias Holm had been a man respected by all those he’d worked with. Holm had been one of the great Alliance heroes of the Third Frontier War, and he’d gone on to lead the ground forces facing the robotic legions of the First Imperium, saving all humanity in the process.

  But Vance knew Holm had been more than a hero to Cain. Their relationship had been like that between father and son, and he realized the enraged and grief-stricken Marine would go after his mentor’s murderer with an unstoppable fury. He knew it would be futile to try to stop Cain, so he decided to help him. If Cain could find Stark and kill him, he might accomplish more than a division of fully-armored Marines. There was far more at stake than Cain’s own personal vendetta. Stark was a mastermind, a psychotic paranoid who kept every aspect of his program running directly through himself. He didn’t trust subordinates with too much knowledge and power, and he deliberately kept his top operatives in the dark about the whole picture. So if Cain could take him out, his entire operation might collapse in on itself.

  “Any new communications, Captain?” Teller looked over at Jennings. He’d expected an update from Cate Gilson by now. They’d been out of range of the Commnet system for over a week, at least the uncompromised sections. The Shadow Legions had cut off a large part of the overall network, making communications spotty and difficult for the Alliance forces and their allies.

  “Nothing, General.” Teller wasn’t technically a general at the moment. Neither was Cain. But Jennings was scrupulous in calling them by their Marine ranks regardless. Some things you earned for life, and these two men would be always generals to him, even if they spent the rest of their lives playing checkers on some Rim world. “There’s been very little incoming traffic from the area around Columbia. I suspect Shadow Legion forces have cut the net as some point rimward from here.”

  Cain frowned. Stark’s Shadow Legion soldiers were everywhere, dug in on 40 colony worlds and far outnumbering the Marines and their allies. But their fleet had remained hidden. Stark was a psychopath, but he was also a genius and a master strategist. And he had been keeping his ships out of combat, using them only to escort invasion forces before pulling them back to whatever hiding place he’d established. He wasn’t afraid of many things, but one of the few things that did scare him was Augustus Garret.

  The Alliance’s exceptional admiral had become the scourge of space, striking terror in the hearts of those standing against him. Garret’s strategies were brilliant – well planned and unorthodox, and his crews worshipped him, ready to follow him to the center of a fiery nova if that’s where he led them. His reputation had been unparalleled even before the First Imperium War, but now he was regarded, by friend and foe alike, as the greatest naval commander in history, an invincible, unstoppable force. His complete destruction of most of the CAC navy nine months before had only increased his fearsome reputation.

  Teller looked at Cain, and he saw his friend had the same concerned look. Gilson’s last communication had been two weeks before. The Marines and their Janissary allies had liberated a few small colony worlds, mostly in systems that were strategically located to serve as forward bases of operation, but now Gilson was planning a move against Columbia.

  Cain knew the planet well, and his mind drifted back across the years. He’d first served under Holm on Columbia, in the dark days after the Slaughter Pen, when the Alliance forces were on the run. Cain had been a sergeant then, and a newly promoted one at that.

  They’d managed to defend the planet, barely, but the cost had been high…including Erik Cain coming as close to a nuclear explosion as a man could without actually dying. He’d spent months in the hospital, and then another year and a half at the Academy, before he returned to the fight. When he next led an assault, it would be as a captain…and the Alliance would be on the road to recovery from its earlier defeats.

  “You think the Columbia operation is underway?” Teller tried to hide his concern, but he was only marginally successful. Columbia was a crucial target, one of the Alliance’s biggest and most important colonies. But Stark knew that too, and he’d sent a massive invasion force to take the planet. There had been a few early reports from the defenders, but nothing since, and it was generally assumed they’d been overwhelmed and destroyed – and the Shadow Legions had been digging in for months. There was little doubt in Teller’s mind – or Cain’s – that the liberation of the planet would be a bloodbath.

  “I don’t know, Jim.” Cain’s voice was grim, somber. They both had friends in that invasion force, Marines of course, but also some of the Janissaries. The two forces, allies now after years as enemies, had fought together initially against the First Imperium and then again on Armstrong, where the Janissaries had saved Cain’s forces from destruction. He felt a twinge in his stomach. It seemed wrong for his friends to be going into a brutal fight without him. But he knew he had no choice. He had to follow through on what he was doing. He had to kill Gavin Stark.

  He turned and stared at Teller. “I just don’t know,” he repeated. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “But they’ve got their job to do, and we’ve got ours.” He turned to face Teller. “And that job is finding the man behind all of this.”

  He looked down at the floor for a few seconds, thinking, analyzing everything they knew. “Things are coming to a head on Earth,” he said suddenly. “If I know Gavin Stark, he’s going to do everything he can to push the Superpowers over the brink so he can come in and pick up the pieces.”

  “But Roderick Vance’s expedition destroyed his base.” Teller’s voice was grim. The Martian nuclear attack had obliterated Stark’s secret facility destroying almost a million of his Shadow Legion clones. It had killed at least another million Alliance citizens as well, victims of radiation and fallout from the bombardment.

  “That was a help, but I seriously doubt Gavin Stark had all his Earth-based resources in one place.” Cain had sworn he would never again underestimat
e Stark, and he was determined to make good on that pledge. “Vance’s attack hurt him, no doubt, but it’s a certainty he’s got more clones stashed somewhere.” He paused. “And when he’s pushed the Superpowers to the final confrontation, he’ll release them against the last remnants of their armies.” Another pause. “And then he’ll rule Earth. All of it.”

  Cain had a hunch, nothing but a guess really, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Stark was stalemated in the colonies, too afraid of Garret to do anything but dig in on the worlds he occupied and hope the Corps dashed itself to pieces assaulting his defenses. But Earth was a different story.

  He turned back toward Jennings. “Captain…” Cain stared straight ahead, but his thoughts were elsewhere, imagining the plans going through Stark’s twisted mind. “…please plot a course to the Sol system.” Yes, he thought with any icy hatred, that’s where we’ll find him. There to finish the job at home while Garret’s fleet is busy escorting the Columbia invasion force. “Fastest possible time, if you please, Captain. No matter how much time we need to spend buttoned up in the tanks.”

  Cain stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over, his fists clenched. I know you’ll be there, he thought darkly. I’ve finally got you, you son of a bitch.

  Chapter 2

  Admiral’s Workroom

  AS Pershing

  Orbiting Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  Augustus Garret sat at his desk, staring across at General Catherine Gilson, acting Commandant of the Alliance Marine Corps. It had been more than half a year, but it was still a shock to look at that chair and not see Elias Holm sitting there. Garret and Holm had forged a highly effective partnership over their years in command of the respective services, and a close friendship as well. Now Holm was gone, another friend and comrade lost to the endless wars that seemed to plague man wherever he went.

  Garret had seen so many killed in his years of battle there was nothing left inside but an aching numbness. He’d witnessed more death and suffering than any man was intended to endure, but duty owned his soul, and it commanded him ever onward, wherever the call of battle echoed out to him.

  The struggle against Gavin Stark’s Shadow Legions was his fourth war. He’d been blooded in the Second Frontier War, and he’d gotten his first taste of true sacrifice in that conflict. He’d survived that struggle, and the pain and loss it had caused him, to become a hero leading the massively expanded fleets of the Third Frontier War. But it wasn’t until the First Imperium War that he became a true legend, the most feared and celebrated warrior in human space, and perhaps in all history itself.

  His list of victories had grown, one great battle after another won, but no triumph, no matter how swift or complete, ever seemed to achieve peace. Now he was at war again, not facing the robotic legions of long-dead aliens, but against a human monster, a psychopathic genius bent on total domination of mankind. It never ended, he thought grimly, the constant sacrifice, the endless bloodshed. Now he would lead his people into the fight again, but would victory this time bring a lasting peace or just more suffering and death?

  Gilson was fidgeting nervously, clearly uncomfortable to be sitting on the fleet flagship while her Marines were preparing to hit the ground. Indeed, she had fully intended to go down with the first wave, ignoring all objections from her officers. Finally, Garret had prevailed on her that her duty was to coordinate the entire attack, not to get herself killed in some pointless gesture. She owed it to her Marines, he had said. She owed it to them to stay alive and give them the leadership they needed to win and survive this new battle.

  Gilson had been ready to argue, but she, like the rest of her fellow officers, considered Garret to be the overall Alliance commander, though officially he only led the navy. Unable to ignore Garret’s wishes, she reluctantly agreed to manage the invasion from the flagship. Augustus Garret was famous throughout occupied space, the man who had stopped the First Imperium and saved mankind from total destruction. Elias Holm, Erik Cain – and Gilson herself – had all won their own share of fame and glory in that terrible conflict, but Fleet Admiral Garret had received the largest share of acclaim, even from his own peers, though he wanted none of it.

  Garret hated the hero worship, the senseless acclaim he received wherever he went. His own people were the worst offenders, and he’d come to dread that starry eyed look they gave him, the awestruck silence in the ranks as he passed by. He’d long ago lost his taste for glory, far too familiar with its often heartrending price. The victory against the First Imperium had saved humanity, but it had cost Garret his soul. In his own mind he wasn’t a hero; he was a butcher, leading thousands to their deaths and worse. The fact that those sacrifices were necessary, that they had saved millions, was enough reason to do what he had done, but not to forgive himself for the cost. He’d sacrificed friendship, even love, to achieve his victories, and the taste was bitter in his mouth.

  He’d never forgive himself for what he had done in that final battle on the frontier, how he’d left his best friend and 40,000 Marines and naval personnel behind, trapped at the mercy of a massive fleet of First Imperium vessels. His friends and comrades had told him again and again he’d had no choice, and Garret himself knew that was true. But no one else seemed to understand it just didn’t matter. Some acts were so horrifying, so soul-killing, no amount of justification could make a difference. Some things you did killed the part of you that made you human.

  “The first waves will be launching in three minutes.” Ali Khaled sat next to Gilson. The former Caliphate commander, now a fugitive from his nation along with all his men, sat next to Gilson, staring at a bank of monitors along the wall. Some showed live shots of the activities in the assault bays, while others displayed lists of stats and projected launch times.

  “Yes.” Gilson nodded, her own eyes fixed on the monitors. “General Heath is in command of the lead elements.” Then-Colonel Heath had served well on Arcadia, when Gilson’s forces returned from the frontier and reinforced the battered Marines James Teller and Elias Holm had led to the aid of the locals. She’d given him his star for it, and now he was commanding the advance elements of the invasion force, proof she thought grimly, that no good deed goes unpunished. Heath’s people would be landing in the teeth of the enemy defenses, and they’d be outnumbered and under constant fire as they clawed to carve a foothold for the rest of the forces to land.

  James Teller would have been her first choice to command the vanguard, but he was off with Erik Cain, chasing Gavin Stark. Teller was Cain’s protégé, much as Cain had been Holm’s. When Erik decided to hunt down Stark, Teller had followed him without a second thought. She had both men’s stars in her desk, waiting for them to return and claim them. She’d wished more than once that they were with her, helping to lead the Corps into this new fight, but she understood why they had made the choices they had. And, if they were successful in finding and killing Stark, perhaps they would do more to end this war than the entire strike force about to invade Columbia. Maybe they could wear those stars again in peacetime, helping her rebuild the shattered Corps.

  Nevertheless, Gilson had tried to convince Cain to stay, and Garret had thrown his own efforts behind hers. But Erik Cain was as stubborn as any human being who’d ever lived, and he grimly declined both their entreaties. Killing Stark was not only vengeance for General Holm, he’d declared, but the best way to defeat the Shadow Legions. Stark had been their enemy for years, secretly plotting against them before he declared openly and launched his Shadow Legions to conquer occupied space. He’d been a cancer consuming the body of the navy and the Corps, even as they struggled against the robot legions of the First Imperium. Stark had worked against them as far back as the Third Frontier War and the rebellions, engineering Rafael Samuels’ treachery that had almost destroyed the Corps.

  Lop the head off, Cain had said simply, and the body will die. There could be no peace while Stark lived. He was too capable, too intelligent – too evil. He would
never stop, and no victory could be final while he still lived.

  Garret and Gilson had argued with him, but they both knew Cain was right. If he and Teller succeeded, if they found and killed Gavin Stark, maybe this war could be stopped before the last veterans of the Corps and their Janissary allies were gone. Thousands were already dead, lost in the endless, brutal battles. Perhaps Cain’s pursuit of vengeance could save the few who remained, and the Corps itself with them.

  The three officers stared at the monitors, waiting for the launches to begin. There was an eerie quiet in the room, an absence that each of them felt keenly. They all knew Elias Holm was dead, of course, yet it seemed every time one of them turned around, they expected to see him standing there, calmly directing the invasion force. It had been six months, but the loss was still fresh, a wound that wouldn’t heal.

  Gilson’s emotions were volatile. Despite her understanding of his motives and the potential rewards of his success, she was angry at Cain for leaving her to fill Holm’s shoes by herself. Worse, she envied him. She wanted to hunt Stark down herself, to kill the psychopathic bastard with her own hands. Her feelings had been confusing at first, threatening to tear her apart, but she’d made peace with the whole thing. Cain was the right one to pursue Stark. She had been close to Holm, a loyal officer and a comrade through decades of brutal fighting, but Erik Cain had been like a son to the fallen Commandant. It was his right to go after Stark, even more than hers, and she’d come to realize and accept that.