Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  Farnor glanced up for a second. “Are you sure, Sarah? So quickly?” His eyes dropped back to his work. “Don’t you think we should at least try to save it?”

  Vincent Farnor was a gifted surgeon, a navy commander, and the chief medical officer on Pershing, but Sarah Linden had seen more traumatic battlefield wounds than any medical professional in occupied space.

  “It’s a longshot, Vin. Maybe one chance in five.” She reached up and pointed to a section of the hologram. “You see the damage to the epicardium? Even if we can handle the other problems, we’re never going to be able to repair this. He needs a complete regeneration, and we don’t have time to waste on procedures that aren’t going to work in the end. We’ll be lucky if we don’t lose him in any event, but if we waste hours trying to repair his heart, we’ve got no chance to save him.”

  “Expand image to include lungs.”

  “Expanding hologram, Doctor Linden.” The image expanded, displaying Garret’s entire chest cavity.

  “See here?” Sarah was pointing to damaged areas of the left lung. “And here? If we remove the heart, we can access these areas, maybe save his lungs. If we try to repair the heart too we’re not going to be able to repair the lung damage, and we’ll end up losing them both…and him too. We have to move now. We don’t have much time.”

  Farnor nodded. “You’ve got me convinced, Sarah. We’ll have to put him in partial cryo-stasis.”

  “I agree.” She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “We’re going to have a lot of work to do on that head wound too. Her eyes moved to the monitor about the medpod. “It looks like we caught a piece of luck there. The brain injury is tricky, but I don’t think anything vital was damaged. If we can save him, he shouldn’t have any neurological impairment.”

  She took a deep breath. “Induce partial cyro-stasis, 20%.”

  “Inducing cryo-stasis now, Doctor Linden. The patient will reach the 20% level in 40 seconds.” The AI’s voice was crisp and clear on the medpod’s speakers.

  “Alright, Vin, let’s do this.” She was focused like a laser, as she always was in the hospital. But her stomach was twisted into knots. Augustus Garret was one of the finest men she knew, and a leader everyone – in the navy and the Corps – respected and loved. How could this have happened? Why would Tara Rourke have tried to kill Garret? She’d been almost like a daughter to him.

  Sarah was used to the pressure of battlefield hospitals, and she looked calm and cool as she sliced Garret’s chest open with the laser scalpel. But inside she was a wreck. She knew she would do everything she could, put every bit of her skill and talent into treating Garret’s wounds. But she also knew she had at best a 50% chance of saving his life. And she couldn’t imagine losing Augustus Garret so soon after Holm.

  I’ve got to save him, she thought. Somehow, I’ve got to save him.

  Code Black. The word had gone out to every Alliance unit on Columbia. The counterpart to Code Orange, it meant that the Marines were about to launch a nuclear attack.

  Tyler was suited up and on the front lines. Half a dozen people had tried to convince him that the ruler of the entire planet should be in a less exposed position, but one look at his eyes was enough to send them scurrying out of his way. Tyler wasn’t going anywhere else. This is where his soldiers were, preparing for the final battle, and this was where he was going to stay.

  It was almost time. In another 60 seconds, General Gilson’s Marines would begin their nuclear bombardment, hitting the disordered and decimated Shadow Legions with a firestorm the likes of which they couldn’t imagine, not even in their worst nightmares.

  It hurt Tyler to see his world devastated, the hills and plains he’d hiked as a child turned into pitted wastelands, poisoned with radioactivity. But he had been the first one to tread that road, enticing the enemy into Weston and then destroying the capital with his own nuclear arsenal. It was a cold move, perhaps, one that had shocked most people. But Columbia wasn’t a stretch of ground, nor a cluster of buildings. No, it was much more than that. Columbia was its people, and as long as any of them survived, it would go on.

  Tyler doubted more than a million of his countrymen would be left when the losses were finally tallied. More than half the population had already died in the war. He didn’t have confirmed numbers to support that, but he knew it was true. What did a city and the surrounding settlements mean next to that? Columbia was an entire planet, and when the war was over, he and Lucia would lead the people to the south, to build a new capital and start again, as the original settlers had. But first, the invaders had to be defeated, even if the cost was more destruction and a new cluster of radioactive hotspots.

  “General Tyler, we have a message from Marine HQ, sir.” It was Captain Ventnor on the com. “They are launching now, sir.”

  Tyler flipped on his display. The blue light was flickering, and it had a transparent look to it, making it hard to read. He wished for the thousandth time his people had been equipped with modern armor, like the Marines and the Shadow Legions, but that was beyond the means of any colony world. Columbia was one of the few colonies to have any of its defense forces equipped with fighting suits, and most of them were surplus from the Second Frontier War, 40 year old relics pitted against the most modern armor with four decades of research and development separating them.

  He watched Gilson’s barrage moving toward the enemy position. The targeting data was courtesy of Admiral Garret’s fleet, which had positioned a string of recon satellites around the planet and tied Tyler’s people into the overall communications net.

  He followed the ground-launched missiles and the atomic shells moving toward the enemy positions, and he noticed a line of larger icons, fleet-launched ordnance moving down from orbit toward the same group of targets. He’d relieved Gilson of her obligation to refrain from atomic attacks on Alliance planets, and now she was going to make the strike count. The Marines had suffered horrendous losses, not only on Columbia, but in other battles as well. Now she was letting loose a devastating bombardment designed to virtually destroy the cornered enemy forces.

  Tyler was with his people, ready to move forward as soon as the detonations were finished. He knew the Marines would be heading west, moving in on the heels of the bombardment to finish off the enemy. His people would be a part of that, advancing from the south with Major Mandrake’s Marines. They would move right through the toxic wreckage of Weston and turn to the west, slipping in alongside the Marines to chase down and kill the last of the invaders. Then, Columbia would be free again.

  It had seemed almost impossible during the long months of guerilla warfare, when Tyler had watched his people starve while he choked on the bitterness of defeat. Though he had never let on to anyone – not even Lucia – he’d given up hope, despairing that help would ever come. Now he felt ashamed that his faith had failed him, and he knew he had underestimated the Marines. They were sworn to defend worlds like Columbia, and nothing would keep them from fulfilling that duty. If Cate Gilson had been alone, the last surviving Marine, Tyler knew she would have come to Columbia, her assault rifle in hand, and the honor of the Corps in her heart.

  We watched the small dots move to their target zones, expanding briefly on the screen and then vanishing as they detonated. He knew the flashes would be brighter than the sun, but his visor was down, protecting his eyes. The last thing he needed now was to be blinded by an atomic blast.

  An instant later, the sound arrived, one great rolling boom after another, and the shockwaves hit, more annoyance at this range than serious danger, sending chunks of dirt and bits of wreckage flying.

  The bombardment continued for almost ten minutes, and when it was done, over 200 warheads had exploded, ranging from 2 kiloton mortar rounds to 100 kiloton missiles fired from orbit.

  He sat and listened to the com, waiting for the orders. His body was tense, and he struggled to keep himself still. He felt both exhaustion and exhilaration, and his mind was a blur. He had his rifle in his armore
d hands, and he could see his men to both sides of him, crouched down, ready to lunge forward, as soon as he ordered it.

  It was time. It was finally time. When the word came, his soldiers would climb out of their trenches and advance. And the battle wouldn’t stop until Columbia was clean of the foul stench of the invader. Tyler wasn’t sure what Gilson’s Marines would do, but he knew one thing for certain. None of his Columbian soldiers would take any prisoners. There was only one way to pay the enemy for what they had done to his world. They were an infection, and he intended to eradicate them, wherever they retreated, anyplace they tried to hide.

  His com crackled to life. “All units, advance.” It was General Gilson’s voice. The final battle had begun.

  Chapter 25

  Federal Base Zeta

  Western Virginia Region

  US Zone, Western Alliance

  Warren sat quietly at his desk. He was supposed to be reviewing troop dispositions, but he couldn’t even see the screen in front of his eyes. His mind was elsewhere, deep in thought, wondering if he’d somehow been taken by An Li.

  He’d been understandably suspicious of her motives when she first contacted him, but she hadn’t asked anything too burdensome. All she’d wanted was for him to hold back on any escalation as long as the opposition did the same. He had leaned on the CEL to hold their advance from Paris for 72 hours, but that was about the only thing he’d done differently than he would have otherwise. Even before she called, he was trying to restrain the Alliance’s escalation, working to keep things from sliding even further into chaos.

  The delay by the CEL forces had been to their disadvantage, giving the shattered Europans an extra three days to try and reform, but it had hardly been decisive. He had a hard time convincing himself that’s all Li An had been after. He’d reviewed her file, all the extensive data Alliance Intelligence had on her decades of C1 leadership. She didn’t waste time on small matters. He couldn’t imagine she had initiated the entire affair just to scam him into slowing the CEL advance on Paris for three miserable days.

  Still, she was 18 hours overdue, and all his attempts to contact her had gone unanswered. She’d asked for 72 hours, and by all accounts, Li An was remarkably punctual. It was unlike her to miss a deadline, and even stranger that he couldn’t get an answer from her. It had to be some kind of trick, some plan of hers to gain an edge.

  He scolded himself for being naïve. He’d gone into the conversation with his guard up, but everything she said made sense, and she hadn’t asked him to do anything he considered alarming. Gradually, she convinced him she was serious. Now, he was wondering…what did she really want? What was going on?

  “It has to be something,” he muttered to himself. “She’s up to something I don’t know about, and I need to figure out what.” By all accounts, C1’s chief did not waste her time.

  In the days after his discussion with her, he’d found himself believing more and more of what she had said. Indeed, he’d been surprised when the deadline came and went, and still she hadn’t contacted him.

  He’d checked with his operatives in the CAC, but none had seen any signs of a power struggle or a coup. He knew Li An was stealthy in her operations, but seizing power in her situation required spilling a lot of blood…highly placed blood. There was no way his agents could have failed to pick something up, even if her bid for power had failed. Unless the coup never happened. And that meant he’d been scammed.

  He looked at his screen, forcing himself to focus. He punched a few keys, scrolling between status reports. The Alliance and the CAC had no significant combat in progress. The Alliance armies had been chased out of every foothold in eastern Asia, and the remnant of the Combine’s navy was going nowhere near Admiral Young and his fleet. There was a lull in the fighting.

  What was it, he wondered, what could she be planning? Then it occurred to him. There was no tactical battle in prospect that would be aided by deceiving him in the short term. It had to be something strategic she was after.

  Was she that crazy? Was the CAC Committee? Was this all some kind of game to get the jump on a strategic attack? Perhaps a decapitation strike…or even worse, an all-out assault?

  He recoiled at the insanity of the idea, but the more he considered it, the more he realized that was all it could be. The Powers had managed to destroy each other’s orbital detection grids early in the war, so maybe she thought she could goad the Alliance into lethargy and gain the 15 minutes the CAC needed to get off an unanswered strike. Perhaps she believed they could take out the Alliance’s entire retaliatory capacity. Warren knew that was nearly impossible, but perhaps Li An and the Committee had convinced themselves otherwise.

  It was insane, he thought. Absolutely crazy. But it was possible, even likely. He knew what he had to do.

  He pressed his com unit. “Anne, can you come into my office?”

  “On my way, Mr. President.”

  He turned and looked back at his workstation, pulling up nuclear strike scenarios. There were dozens of plans in the system, and they split into four basic categories. The first were targeted at the central government installations of each of the enemy Superpowers. These “decapitation” strikes were designed to eliminate all levels of the enemy leadership, creating a power vacuum that would leave a nation exposed and vulnerable to conventional conquest.

  The second and third types targeted enemy military power only, either with or without a decapitation component. Level two plans were intended to completely destroy an enemy’s strategic forces only, while level three schemes were broader, designed to wipe out the entire military establishment of a Superpower.

  “All useless,” Warren muttered. Any of the strikes would invite a retaliatory response, and none of the plans could guarantee the complete elimination of an enemy’s ability to strike back. Some of them promised precisely that result, but Warren knew that had always been bullshit. There was no point in Li An tricking him in order to launch any of those types of attacks. She had to know the Alliance would survive and retaliate, and if the CAC strike had been successful enough to render a targeted response impossible, the response would be directed at the CAC’s cities instead.

  He stared at the screen, his eyes focused on a single heading. Level Four Operational Plans. He sighed and punched a key, bringing up a list of protocols. Level four was everything, a massive unrestrained assault intended to utterly destroy a Superpower and its population. Even the Unification Wars hadn’t descended to all-out nuclear war, despite 80 years of almost non-stop fighting. But he couldn’t think of anything else behind Li An’s scheme. He’d been worried that the CEL-RIC situation would eventually lead to an all-out exchange, but now he was wondering if the CAC might beat those two Powers and start the final conflagration now.

  The door slid open, and Anne Jackson stepped in. She had a troubled look on her face.

  “What is it, Anne?” Warren’s voice was coarse, grim. He could see something was wrong, and another problem was the last thing he needed.

  “I just got a report from one of my deep cover agents in the CAC government.”

  He exhaled loudly. “What happened?”

  “Apparently, Li An and several other senior Committee members left their secure facility in a submersible several hours ago.” Jackson’s face was somber, her voice heavy with worry.

  Ryan felt his stomach tighten. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He stared up at his second-in-command. “She played me. They must be planning to attack immediately, hoping they’ve sowed enough confusion to prevent us from responding in time.” He felt cold sweat dripping down his neck, and he struggled against the panic rising inside him.

  He turned toward the workstation. “Activate AI Black-7.”

  “Activated, Mr. President. Awaiting your command.” Black-7 was the Alliance’s strategic strike AI, a computer that existed for a single purpose. To direct a comprehensive nuclear strike on the enemy.

  Warren waved toward the guest chair as he stared
at the screen. “Activate Plan Omega-12, target list to follow.”

  Jackson sat down and watched Warren.

  “Plan Omega-12 now active, Mr. President. Awaiting target list.”

  Warren swallowed, his throat tight with fear and tension. “Objective one, Central Asian Combine, maximum strike, all military and civilian targets.”

  He looked at Jackson for a second. She was staring back silently, her face pale. “Objective two, The Mohammedan Caliphate, maximum strike, all military and civilian targets.”

  He paused. The CAC and the Caliphate were the only two Superpowers that were inveterate enemies of the Alliance. It was possible he could persuade the others to stand down. He was trying to convince himself that was enough, to hold the line at the hundreds of millions in the two Powers he’d already targeted and not expand the cataclysm, but he knew that was wishful thinking. The other Powers would respond automatically to the attack on their allies, just as the PRC and CEL would in support of his own launch.

  He sighed. “Objective three, Russian-Indian Confederacy, maximum strike, all military and civilian targets. Objective four, Europa Federalis, maximum strike, all military and civilian targets. Objective five, South American Empire, maximum strike, all military and civilian targets.”

  He took a deep breath, his chest tight and painful from the stress. “Review target profile.”

  The AI repeated the list of Powers back to him. Its voice was calm, almost cheerful. He wondered who had given an AI a pleasant voice when its sole purpose was to launch Armageddon.

  “Lock in all parameters, and move Plan Omega-12 to stage two.”

  “Targets locked in. All weapons programmed with specific targets. All safety systems disabled.” There was a short pause. “Plan Omega-12 at stage two. Awaiting final command criteria for stage three and launch.”

  “Final launch criteria under my voice command, Warren, Ryan, Alliance president.”