Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  “All atmospheric fighter squadrons are to scramble at once.” He knew the aircraft would be too late, but there was a small chance they might pick off one or two of the enemy missiles, and anything would help right now. Besides, they’d be safer in the air than on the ground anyway.

  The door slid open and a squad of armed and armored Martian Marines poured into the room. “We’re here to get you to a secure location, Mr. Vance.” The sergeant waved his arm, and four of his men surrounded Vance, gently leading him toward the door.

  “Wait,” Vance yelled. “I have…”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Vance, but there is no time.” The sergeant stepped out of the way, motioning for the Marines to move the head of Martian Intelligence out into the hall.

  Vance was going to argue, but he knew the standard procedures even better than the sergeant did. All council members were to be taken to the underground shelter in the event of a level one alert. Vance knew the Marines would do whatever they had to do, but they would get him to safety whether he wanted to go or not.

  He followed along, flipping on the portable comlink on his wrist. “I want full updates,” he yelled as the Marines hustled him down the corridor toward the emergency lift.

  No, he thought to himself. This can’t be happening. He’d helped to design the Martian early warning systems himself, and there was no way a ship should have been able to get so close to Mars without being detected. He leaned over the wrist com and yelled, “Get General Cain on this line immediately.”

  “Roderick, I’m here. They’re missiles, and they’re tracking for your four biggest cities.” Vance already knew what Cain was telling him, but the words hit him like a sledgehammer anyway.

  “Who?” he stammered as the Marines shoved him into the lift. “Who launched the attack?”

  “We don’t know.” Cain’s voice was busy, distracted. “We can’t detect any ships in orbit. I think Stark has…” The high speed lift descended rapidly toward the secure underground bunker of the Martian Council, and Vance’s portable com lost the connection. He stared aimlessly toward the small control panel thinking one thing again and again. How?

  Stark sat in his chair on the bridge and watched the missile tracking data on the main display. He tended to remain impassive and unreadable in front of the crew, but he couldn’t keep a small smile off his face. His stealth ships had managed to sneak into Mars orbit and launch their ordnance. He knew the Martians would fire everything they had at his missiles, but they’d never get them all. And his barrage didn’t have to destroy every square kilometer of inhabited Mars or kill all the Martians. All they had to do was crack the domes of four cities, and single near miss was enough to do the job. There wasn’t any appreciable military support infrastructure anywhere else on Mars, and if the bombardment took out its targets, Garret and the Marines would lose their last hope of refit and resupply. And Stark would be one step closer to mastery over mankind.

  He watched the plotting screen. Soon, his 36 delivery vehicles would separate into 216 individual warheads. The stealth ships weren’t large, and they couldn’t carry a lot of ordnance. The bombs were small, 100 kilotons each, hardly comparable to the 100 megaton city killers the Superpowers would soon be hurling at each other, or the 500 megaton monsters the battlefleets were launching out by Saturn. But 100 kilotons was more than enough to shatter a city’s dome, even one built from reinforced hyper-polycarbonate.

  He could see the Martian response in action. Anti-missile rockets were streaking up through the sky, locking onto his launch vehicles with considerable accuracy. He knew the ground-based lasers were active too, tracking the inbound missiles and waiting for them to come into their shorter range. The defense was spot on, the reactions times extraordinary. The Confederation lived in the shadow of Earth, ever fearful of the navies of the Superpowers, and the Martian defensive systems were leading edge. But Stark knew all that, and he’d planned around it.

  “Separate MIRVs.” He spoke softly, matter-of-factly.

  “Sir, the entry vehicles are still…”

  “Separate MIRVs,” Stark repeated, every aspect of his tone a blood-chilling threat. “Now.”

  “Yes, Number One.” The captain gestured to the tactical officer who turned and worked the controls.

  “Vehicle separation complete.” The officer’s voice was cracking, tense.

  Stark smiled. Now Vance’s people had 216 targets to chase and less than six minutes to go. It was as good as done.

  He leaned back, and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring his impending triumph. Then his ship shook wildly, and the lights went dark for a few seconds. He bolted upright and looked around the small bridge, his eyes settling on the captain. “What the hell was that?”

  “We’re detecting something, sir. It’s very faint. It could be a small amount of debris or some frozen liquids, but we don’t have enough data to be sure.” Cain had ordered the Torch to target the area where the missiles first entered its scanning plot. The stealth ship had to be there, at least it must have been when the ordnance was fired. Cain knew Stark wasn’t the type to trust anyone else with a job this important. He’d be there himself. Cain was sure of it. And he was betting the psychopathic bastard would have stayed in orbit to make sure the job was done.

  “Fire again!” Cain’s voice was frightening, like something out a legend, the cold wailing of the undead, come to claim the living. “Blanket the entire area.”

  Cain knew the Torch was a lightly-armed ship, and he longed for something with more power, even a suicide boat. But he had what he had, and there was no use wasting time on idle wishes. “Maintain fire, full dispersion pattern.” Hopefully, Stark’s stealth vessels were similarly fragile.

  “Yes, sir.” The Torch’s lights dimmed briefly every time its lasers fired. “More debris, General. We definitely hit something.”

  “Concentrate fire on the area around the debris field.” Cain was standing in the middle of the bridge, fists clenched. He knew Stark was out there somewhere and, by God, he was going to kill the son of a bitch.

  “General, we’ve got something on the scope. It looks like a ship of some kind, but the AI is drawing a blank on ID.”

  Cain turned toward the captain and stared at him with death in his eyes. “Fire.”

  Stark was fuming, wondering how some tiny ship in Martian orbit had picked off his location. He’d detected the ship when it arrived, but he wasn’t about to give his position away by attacking it. It looked like a courier ship or a small scout, nothing to worry about. At least that’s what he’d thought.

  “Get us out of here now.” Ghost had been hit worse than Spectre, and its stealth system had been knocked out. He’d ordered it to fight the enemy vessel while Wraith and Spectre escaped, and to proceed to the warp gate and head back to Base Omega. Stark had another destination in mind for the other two ships, but he couldn’t risk anyone following the damaged Ghost there.

  “Spectre control, this is Gavin Stark.” He looked down at his board.

  “Spectre control.” The AI’s voice was cold, impersonal. “Voice pattern identified, Stark, Gavin. Awaiting orders.”

  “Download destination delta-gamma-one-one into navigational computer.”

  “Selected course information is password protected. Access code is required.”

  “Access code alpha-zeta-gamma-delta-delta-three-six-one-eight.”

  “Access code accepted. Course delta-gamma-one-one now active in navigation system.”

  “Engage navigation. Maximum acceleration.” A smile crept back on Stark’s lips. He had one more surprise up his sleeve.

  “Engaged.”

  Stark leaned back, breathing as deeply as he could, as 4 gees pushed down on him. In a few seconds, he would be away from Mars, and on his way to his last base, a refuge so secret, no one but the Shadow Legion personnel stationed there knew it existed. Most of those who built it were still posted there, and the others were gone, sacrificed to the needs of security. It was his refuge
for the final phase, and from there he would direct the end game of his plan to impose his rule on Earth.

  Cain pulled himself up and shuffled over to an empty chair. He’d been so intent on finding the ship he knew had to be there, he hadn’t considered they might decide to fight back. The Torch had taken a hit. It was just a glancing blow, but Vance’s amazing speedsters weren’t warships, not by any measure, and the blast had knocked Cain off his feet. Another hit or two and that would be the end of Sand Devil.

  “Maintain fire, captain. We’ve got the thing on scanners now, and we need to blast the fucker dead on.” The enemy vessel didn’t appear to be any stronger than the Torch, and Cain figured one more solid hit would disable it at least.

  “Erik…”

  Cain turned his head toward Teller. The Marine was sitting at another workstation, monitoring the enemy missiles. As soon as he saw his friend’s face, he knew. “The Ares Metroplex?”

  Teller nodded grimly. “Three detonations around the city. The second one cracked the dome. The last one shattered it.”

  Cain felt a tightness in his stomach, and he hoped there had been enough time for Vance’s people to evacuate the population, though he doubted everyone got out. He stared at the display for a second, hoping Vance at least had gotten to safety. Then he took a breath and turned back to the captain, who was looking at Teller, his face a mask of shock and pain.

  “Captain!” Cain’s shout was primal, and it shook the officer from his funk. “We need to take out that ship, and we need to do it now! Those are the bastards who just blasted the Metroplex.” Cain knew how to reach the baser instincts of men, to shake them from sadness and fear and channel their anger and longing for vengeance into an irresistible force.

  “Full power to the lasers. Fire!” Cain shouted, his roar seeming to shake the ship’s structural supports. His eyes were focused on the plotting screen, and an instant later, the ship went dark, every scrap of power from its straining reactor pumped into the weapons systems. A few seconds later, the power came back, and Cain focused on the screen. It was blank. Nothing but floating debris and chunks of ice and frozen gasses. The enemy ship was gone.

  Cain felt a rush of satisfaction, but something didn’t feel right. He looked down at the screen, reviewing the scanning data from the enemy ship. His eyes stopped on the tonnage figure, 3,500. There was no way a ship that size could fire 36 MIRVs. He felt his chest tighten, and rage flowed through his body. There had to be more than one ship. They hadn’t killed Stark. They’d destroyed the ship the bastard had left behind to cover his escape. Cain clenched his fists and screamed.

  Liang stared at small screen on his display, watching the ships converge from two directions. The Martian battleline had been savaged, two of its four battleships destroyed outright and the other two badly damaged. But the surviving ships, along with their attached cruisers and destroyers were heading directly for his flagship, firing with all their remaining weaponry.

  The two Martian superbattleships were coming in from the other side, their deadly x-ray lasers ignoring every other target, blasting away at him as well. He felt a chill go down his spine. This was no normal battle formation. The Martian admiral was coming for him! And every vessel remaining in the Martian fleet was bearing down.

  “Pull us back,” he shouted to his tactical officer. “Get us behind the battle line.” Liang could feel the cold, clammy sweat on his neck, and he took a deep breath. “All other ships are to engage the enemy fleet while we draw them in.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” The officer relayed the order to engineering, and he turned back toward Liang. “We’ll be engaging the engines in 30 second, sir. Prepare for 3g thrust.” He sent the orders to the rest of the fleet, ordering them to hold position and engage the incoming enemy ships. He doubted they’d view Liang’s flight as ‘drawing the enemy in,’ but they knew they were close to victory, and none of them wanted to risk Gavin Stark’s wrath. They didn’t have much respect for Liang, but they were scared to death of Stark. They served the most conscienceless killer in all of occupied space, and they knew how he felt about anything less than total success.

  “The battleline is covering our retreat, Admiral.”

  “Very well,” Liang said softly, trying to hide his fear. There was something about this Martian admiral that reminded him of Augustus Garret. Not in raw military talent, perhaps, but in terms of cold-blooded persistence. And the thought terrified him.

  Campbell was slammed back hard into his command chair as John Carter took another hit. The ship was surrounded, enemy cruisers and destroyers coming in from all sides to make deadly attack runs. But that was a problem for the damage control parties. Carter’s captain, and her gunners, were focused on one target and nothing else.

  Liang’s flagship was trying to withdraw under the cover of its screening vessels, but Captain Cartwright had managed to keep John Carter right behind its prey. The Martian behemoth had massive damage, and she was streaming frozen gas and fluids behind her, but she was still in the fight. Sword of Ares was trying to keep up, but she’d lost two of her engines, and she was down to a single reactor running at 50%. Campbell knew the vessel and its crew couldn’t be in better hands than Brian Oswald’s, but he still gave the superbattleship no more than even odds of survival.

  Campbell was silent, his discipline keeping the pain and loss all around him at bay. The battle wasn’t over yet, and it was still to be decided if those who’d died had done so in vain or in a noble victory. Win or lose, the Martian admiral knew his fleet was all but destroyed, and he was determined to inflict as much loss as possible on Stark’s forces in return. His people had given worse than they’d gotten, but it remained to be seen if they would overcome their numerical inferiority in the end.

  John Carter shook again as she took a direct hit from one of the enemy battleships. The lights flickered, but all her systems remained functional. Campbell had his headset on, the line to Captain Cartwright’s bridge open. “Keep us on target, Will. And keep those batteries firing full.” The x-ray lasers were tearing Liang’s ship apart, each blast ripping through multiple decks, destroying everything in its path. Campbell knew Liang’s ship couldn’t take much more, but he knew his own savaged behemoth was also nearing the end of its incredible endurance. And John Carter had half the enemy fleet trying to take her down.

  Campbell snapped his head toward the com station. “All vessels, cease pursuit of the enemy flagship, and direct all fire on vessels attacking John Carter.” The Martian flagship would deal with Liang’s vessel herself, as long as the rest of the fleet could get some of the attackers off her ass and buy her some time.

  Christensen relayed the command, and all along the battleline, the battered Martian ships came around and fell on the vessels chasing John Carter. They struck like starving wolves, spewing death and destruction from every remaining gun, and all across the confused, intermixed lines, ships were blown apart and men and women died.

  “Search harder, Captain.” Cain was leaning over the captain’s shoulder, staring at the data streaming across the screen. He didn’t understand most of it; he’d spent his life fighting on the ground, not piloting spaceships around. But he knew there had to be something there, and he was going to find it if it was the last thing he ever did. “There has to be some way to track that ship.”

  “I’m running scanner sweeps in all directions, General. There is nothing. No energy trail, no radiation. Nothing to track.”

  Cain’s face was like iron. “We hit another ship, Captain. You know we did. We must have done some kind damage, even if it was minimal. There has to be something we can trace, even bits of debris.”

  “Yes,” the Captain said softly. “That’s an idea. Maybe debris. They wouldn’t have had time to patch anything before they took off.” His hands raced over the workstation, eyes glued to the screen. “I think I have something.” He leaned over the scope, staring intently. “It’s a faint trail, bits of plasti-steel and other materials, probably from t
he hull.” He flipped a few controls and put his face back to the scope. “We just might be able to follow it, General.” His face snapped up. “But we need to go now.”

  Cain nodded and slapped his hand down on the console. “Then let’s go. Just don’t lose that trail, whatever you do.” Cain tried not to sound too threatening with the last bit, but then again, he thought, a little extra motivation wouldn’t hurt the captain’s concentration.

  Chapter 12

  Dead Man’s Ridge

  Halfway Between LZ Holm and Weston

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  “Keep up that fire. Don’t give those bastards a chance to reform.” Callahan was crouched down, just behind his line on the reverse slope of the ridge. It had been named after one of the first families to settle on Columbia, but one of his non-coms had rechristened it Dead Man’s Ridge. Callahan didn’t know, but considering Columbia’s violent history, he suspected the new name might just stick.

  His people had advanced 15 klicks, moving straight toward Columbia’s capital…its ruins, at least. The scanning runs had confirmed that most of Weston had been leveled by a number of tactical nuclear warheads. By all indications, the detonations had taken place months before, probably during the final days of the planetary army’s defensive efforts. Callahan couldn’t imagine what those last days of fighting had been like. The Columbians had a reputation for never giving up, and he wondered how much of the civilian population had died in the fighting – and in the reprisals he suspected their resistance had provoked.

  He crouched down and walked along the line, checking on each platoon in turn. He’d been continually reorganizing, combining shattered formations to keep his units on the line closer to full strength. Moving troops around on an OB didn’t create any more of them though, and he’d had trouble manning his section of the line, at least until General Mantooth led a bunch of fresh units from the second wave forward and cut the area he had to cover in half.