by Jay Allan
He looked up at the agent standing next to him. “Send a Priority One flash communication to Admiral Vellinghausen. He is to prepare for a tactical nuclear bombardment of targets along the CEL-RIC front.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” The agent showed no emotion, not even the slightest break in his stone cold expression at an order that meant, at the very least, millions would die.
My God, Warren thought. Gavin Stark really did recruit and train an army of sociopaths. He wondered if he was any different – or just another of Stark’s prototype human monsters, a man incapable of caring about the misery and death he unleashed on others. He’d done his share of terrible things in the service of Alliance Intelligence, and he’d never been unduly troubled by guilt or remorse. But things were different now. The fate of the entire world was at stake, and Warren was feeling uncertainties he’d never before experienced. Is this guilt, he wondered?
“Advise him he will have a target list within four hours.” Guilt or no, he was too far in now. The Alliance was in too deep to pull back. There could only be victory in this war, or total and utter defeat, and Warren would rather die in the ashes than be dragged before the Caliph or Li An in shackles. “And get me Chancellor Schmidt immediately.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” The agent nodded and turned around, hurrying out of the office to carry out his orders.
Warren took a deep breath, looking around the room. Oliver’s tastes were much flashier than his own, and hated just about everything the former president had selected, from his enormous desk to the various bits and pieces that lay on the shelves and tables around the room. He wondered what it would be like to assume the presidency during a different time, one when redecorating an office was a priority.
The com buzzed. “Mr. President, we have Chancellor Schmidt on the line.” Warren’s finger paused over the flashing button. It was time to convince the head of the CEL to launch most of the rest of his nuclear arsenal at the invading Russian armies. The bombs in the west had blasted and poisoned lands in Europa Federalis, but in the east the fighting was all on CEL territory. The civilians who would become collateral damage were citizens of the CEL. The industry and infrastructure destroyed would be the CEL’s.
Warren knew Schmidt was under enormous stress, the chancellor’s situation even more desperate than the one he was facing. But it was the only way, the only chance to avoid a road that led to almost certain defeat. Even if it left the CEL prostrate, its own armies virtually destroyed.
“Mr. Chancellor, I have a proposal to discuss with you.”
Axe moved through the tunnels slowly, carefully. He had a portable light – he’d killed to get it – but he had no idea how much power it had left, and he was being cautious. He was fairly certain the tunnel led into the heart of Sector A. His people had used it before, to make special deliveries to the elite zone. There were a number of substances the elites craved, items that were illegal and unobtainable through legitimate channels.
For a price, the gangs had offered whatever the privileged and powerful desired. Axe’s people had delivered various narcotics through these tunnels, as well as attractive Cog women, sold as sex slaves and written off as random victims of street violence. They’d even brought in a steady stream of young Cog men for a specific client, a Senator who’d fancied himself a gifted martial artist and who treated himself from time to time to the spectacle of beating drugged opponents to death in his own private arena.
Axe had willingly participated in sordid business of this sort for the gang, first as a junior member, willing to do anything to escape the miserable existence of a Cog factory worker, and later as he climbed through the ranks, eventually becoming the leader.
As he rose to the top, he became increasingly aware of the perverse relationship between the gangs and the government. At first, he’d view Alliance Gov as the enemy, and he hated and despised the police who occasionally launched reprisals against the gangs. But later he learned that the gangs were actually allied with the government. The violence in the ghettoes, and the atmosphere of constant fear it propagated, kept the Cogs beaten down, too focused on their daily struggle to survive to even think about rebelling against the government.
The gangs served other purposes as well, keeping the privileged Political Classes well supplied with luxuries and perversions the government thought were best kept in the shadows.
The gang leaders themselves made a devil’s bargain, promising enough random violence to keep the Cogs down while also sacrificing a tithe of their own low level members to police action. The young Axe, a junior gang member making risky runs into the Protected Zone, had viewed the police as the hated enemy, but when he advanced up the chain of command, he came to realize they were all part of an elaborate charade, one that existed solely to support Alliance Gov’s control of every aspect of life and society.
Axe had moved up through the gang a step at a time, and at each level he had done what was expected of him, killing without question, dragging helpless captives to their fates as the playthings of the wealthy Politicians. He’d done what he had to do, to escape the factories and to stay alive. But now he felt remorse, and he questioned the foulness of the system he had served.
He was a violent creature, he knew, dangerous and feral. He’d just killed a man for his flashlight. But he didn’t think he could go back to the old system, coolly sacrificing his own people to the hated police while serving his masters at Alliance Gov. Whatever he did going forward, he swore to himself it would be genuine. Never again would he serve Alliance Gov, nor would he ever again betray those he led, men and women who swore loyalty to him.
He would kill again, he was sure, but only to serve his own purposes, to survive and to bring his people through the destruction and chaos that were spreading everywhere. Even killing for a flashlight made more sense to him than playing the twisted game with Alliance Government. His act had been a brutal one, unforgivable perhaps, but there was at least a base honesty to it. He had needed the light to survive in the tunnels, and he had done what he had to do to get it. He knew the Cogs would turn on each other when they began to run low on plundered supplies. Men would do what he had done and worse. They would do what they had to do to survive. And he intended to be long gone from the city before things reached that stage.
Chapter 11
Flag Bridge
MCS John Carter
Near Saturn
Sol System
Duncan Campbell stared at the display, watching the report of Rhodes’ destruction in stunned silence. It all felt strangely detached, a small icon disappearing from a computer screen, along with a stream of data confirming that the Martian battleship had lost power to its fusion core containment. The reality – that one of his oldest friends, and over 900 veteran spacers had just been vaporized – seemed an amorphous concept.
The Martian admiral felt the emotion welling up inside of him, and he clamped down hard, driving it into a deep place in his mind until he had time for it. He had ships in the fight that needed his attention, and live crews fighting an enemy that still outnumbered them. He would mourn the dead later.
His eyes scanned the tactical display. The battle was going fairly well overall, better at least than he could have dared hope. But well was a relative term when you were badly outnumbered, and he knew his fleet was on its last legs. Celestia and Rhodes were gone, and every other ship in the battleline, including John Carter and Sword of Ares, were heavily damaged.
He panned across the icons representing enemy ships. Stark’s vessels had all been stolen from various other powers, and most of them were in the Martian naval database, making them easy to pick out. His eyes stopped on one battleship, a Yorktown class behemoth. It was positioned behind the battleline, and it was the last of the big Alliance ships in the fleet. Liang’s flagship.
“Get me Captain Oswald now.” It was time to up the ante, time to see what Liang Chang was truly made of.
“I’ve got Captain Oswald, sir.”
> “Captain, do you see that Yorktown sitting behind the enemy battleline?”
“Yes, sir. She’s tucked in there nice and neat.” Oswald had a deep booming voice, and it lost nothing in the transmission across 20,000 kilometers of empty space.
“Would you say that’s Liang’s flagship?”
“I’d bet money on it, sir.”
Campbell took a deep breath. “Let’s find out. I want you to head straight for that ship, Brian. Ignore everything else. I’ll do the same.” His eyes darted back to the display for an instant. “It’s time to give Admiral Liang something to think about.”
“Yes, sir.” Oswald emphasized both words with a tone of deep approval. He was all for taking the battle to Stark’s admiral and damned the consequences.
Campbell knew those consequences could be severe. As soon as Liang realized they were coming after him, all hell would break loose. He’d probably order every ship in his fleet to attack the two huge battlewagons. Carter and Sword of Mars were tough vessels, the largest and most powerful tools of war ever built by man, but they weren’t indestructible. If they took enough damage they could be obliterated, just like Celestia and Rhodes.
“Good luck, Brian.”
“And to you, sir.”
Campbell took a deep breath and dialed up John Carter’s bridge. “Will, set a course directly toward contact Sierra-2. I want all batteries targeted at that ship.”
Will Cartwright had taken over command of John Carter when the newly minted Admiral Campbell moved to the flag bridge. Cartwright had been Campbell’s first officer, and there was no one he trusted more. In fact, he’d asked Roderick Vance point blank to promote Cartwright and make him his flag captain. There had been a number of senior officer on the list waiting for a battleship command, but Vance acceded to the wishes of his new Admiral. If Campbell was going to take control of the whole fleet, Vance had reasoned, he had the right to the flag captain of his choosing.
“Yes, sir. Target Sierra-2.” There was a brief pause. “Initiating 3g thrust in twenty seconds.”
An instant later, the message repeated on the shipwide com. “All personnel prepare for immediate 3g maneuvers.”
Campbell could hear Cartwright shouting commands through the open com. A few seconds later: “All batteries are targeting contact Sierra-2, Admiral.”
Campbell closed the com line and stared straight ahead, imagining Liang’s reaction. The former-CAC admiral wasn’t a fool, but he wasn’t known for his personal courage either. Campbell wondered whether the fear of Gavin Stark was enough to stiffen his spine.
“Sword of Ares is on a parallel course, 20,700 kilometers to our port, Admiral. Both ships on a direct vector for enemy contact Sierra-2.”
Campbell’s expression morphed slowly into a hard, feral gaze. I’m coming for you, Liang Chang, he thought. And the shades of David Ross and the crews of Celestia and Rhodes are with me.
“Time to see what we are all made of,” he whispered to himself.
Cain was thinking, wracking his brain trying to figure out how Stark was planning to come at Mars. The fleet battle now raging was a diversion, he was sure of that. Stark was too subtle, too clever to wager such a crucial part of his plan on the vagaries of success in battle. Stark was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a soldier, a warrior. He didn’t have the capacity to trust in the men serving under him to do what was necessary. No, Cain thought, he would have planned something else, something sleeker, more direct.
“We’re getting close to Mars.” Teller walked up behind Cain. “I had the captain do a full scan. Nothing. The scope is clear.”
“Of course, it’s clear. Stark knows he could never have gotten a ship through the Confederation’s net without being detected.” He paused for a few seconds, looking up with a strange expression on his face. “A normal ship, at least.”
“Normal ship?” Teller was confused.
“How did he get away on Armstrong?”
Teller walked around Cain’s chair, staring down at his friend. “He slipped past the fleet, I guess.”
“Slipped past Augustus Garret?” Cain’s voice was becoming firmer, his conviction growing. “Not likely.” His eyes darted up toward Teller’s. “No, James, not just any ship. Stark must have some kind of stealth ship, something that can evade normal detection.”
“A stealth ship?” Teller sounded unconvinced. “That’s a bit of a stretch, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not really.” Cain was nodding as he spoke. “What else could it be? After Stark killed Elias, Admiral Garret clamped down the tightest blockade occupied space has ever seen, but the son of a bitch got through it somehow anyway.” Cain knew he was working a hunch, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was right. “We know the navy’s been working on stealth technology for a long time, and Stark would have had access to everything through Alliance Intelligence.” The pieces were beginning to slide into place in Cain’s mind. No one in the Alliance would have been better positioned to steal promising new technologies – and eliminate anyone who knew anything about them. “Think about it. Who would have had an easier time diverting any new research to his own purposes?”
Teller was listening, but his expression remained skeptical. It just seemed too out there for him to embrace.
“Think about it, James. We’re always underestimating Stark, always one step behind him. I’ve fallen into that trap before, but never again.” He paused and stared at Teller with icy eyes. “Never.”
Cain stood up. “That’s why his fleet is invading the system. Stark wanted to draw the Confederation’s warships away from Mars.” He paused again. “That means he must be planning something…now.” He moved quickly toward the door. “Come on, James. We’ve got to get to the bridge.”
He slipped through the open hatch and into the corridor, heading for the ship’s small control center.
Teller chased behind. “Erik, wait. Don’t you think we’re moving a little too quickly here? This is only a guess after all.”
“It’s the best thing we’ve got.” Cain didn’t break a stride. “And my gut tells me I’m right, James.” Cain waved his hand over the plate next to the bridge entrance, and the hatch slid open. He walked inside and looked over toward the command chair. “Captain Jennings, I need to speak with Roderick Vance. Now.”
Jennings turned toward the unexpected visitor. “Immediately, General Cain.” Vance had sent Jennings to aid Cain, with the specific instructions to do anything the Marine general asked. The head of Martian Intelligence respected Cain and trusted his judgment, perhaps even more in some ways than his own Marine colleagues. Cain and Vance were similar creatures, the ‘cold fish’ of their respective services. Vance knew Cain was deadly serious in his pursuit of Gavin Stark, and he wanted to help any way he could. And he knew if anyone could track stark down and rid the universe of Stark’s loathsome presence, it was Erik Cain, by sheer determination if nothing else.
“This is Sand Devil to Confederation Control. I have a clearance level one communique for Roderick Vance.” Sand Devil’s captain handled the communication himself. A clearance level one message could only be made by a ship’s captain or higher. It was the Confederation’s top priority communications protocol, used only for serious emergencies. Vance had been clear that Jennings was to use the channel for any messages from Cain.
“Vance here.” The communications desk rerouted the message almost instantaneously.
Jennings handed Cain a headset. He reached out and grabbed it, strapping it on. “Cain here, Roderick.” He paused, but only for an instant. He was about to hurl the Confederation into frenzy of activity, like a child kicking an anthill. He wondered for a second if Teller was right, if he was overreacting. But he shoved that aside. He knew he was right. He just knew it.
“I believe Stark’s attack is a diversion, Roderick, an attempt to draw your fleet away from Mars.”
“Why would he want to…” Vance’s voice stopped suddenly, and Cain could hear alarms in
the background. Erik turned and looked at Teller then his eyes shot over to Jennings. “Captain, run a scan of…”
“Already doing it, General. We’re picking up multiple missile launches from high orbit.” He snapped his head around toward Cain. “We can’t detect any launch platforms, sir, but we’re tracking 36 inbound delivery vehicles entering the Martian atmosphere. “It’s like they came out of nowhere.” The captain’s voice was loud, brittle. “Preliminary analysis suggests multiple surface targets, including the Ares Metroplex, Argos, Tharsis City, and Olympia.”
Cain felt his stomach tighten as Jennings rattled off the names of the four largest cities on Mars. My God, he thought. We’re too late.
“I said a planetwide level one alert.” Vance was shouting into the com unit. He almost never lost his composure, but now he was facing the most dangerous crisis of his life, and he’d let it happen. He’d sent the entire fleet to face Stark’s invading ships, secure in the knowledge that nothing could come through either of Sol’s warp gates without being tracked every kilometer by his detection grid. He’d played into Stark’s hands again, and this time hundreds of thousands of innocent Martians would pay the price.
“I want all personnel into the shelters immediately.” There were klaxons sounding off all around, and he could hear the scrambling of boots in the corridor outside. His hands worked the com controls. “All planetary defense units, we are tracking 36 incoming enemy missiles. Interception is absolutely essential at all costs. Fire at will.” He knew the anti-assault batteries would get some of them, probably most of them. But he also knew some would get through, especially since they were probably MIRVs, with at least half a dozen warheads each.
