by Jay Allan
She didn’t cry, at least not when anyone could see. She just calmly went about her responsibilities. Their cause was looking hopeless, but Kara wasn’t about to give up…not now, not ever. This was Will’s army, and she would stay with it as long as it existed. That much she owed him.
They’d had to abandon her factory too, the place Will had convinced them all to build years before. She’d become the heart and soul of the facility, keeping the weapons and ammo flowing out long after the raw materials stopped coming in. Sometimes it seemed they were making guns out of nothing but her raw will, but she kept the supplies coming to the army no matter what.
She had watched, silent and impassive, as Will’s soldiers placed the charges. They couldn’t defend the facility anymore, but she’d be damned if she was going to let the enemy have it. Kyle had tried to get her to leave, not to watch. But she wouldn’t move from the site, and she insisted on triggering the detonation herself. It was her factory, and if anyone was going to blow it to oblivion, it was her.
She was finding the marches more difficult every day…and it was only going to get worse. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but it wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t hide it anymore. They already treated her with an eerie sort of reverence, as if protecting her was the last thing they could do for their beloved general. She understood, but it was wearing on her too. She had her own grief, which she hadn’t even begun to deal with, and the constant attention from the army was only making it worse. What would they do when they found out she was carrying Will’s child?
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe nothing mattered. Kyle was doing everything he could, but sooner or later the Feds would hunt them down, even in these mountains. And that would be the end. Kara would have made sure not to survive the last battle, but that was a solace she would now be denied, her responsibility to her child trumping her own wish to join Will in death. What kind of world, she wondered, will you grow up in? We have failed you; we have failed all the generations to come.
Erik Cain listened to the locking bolt click securely into the frame of the lander and felt the familiar vibration of his armor as the reactor roared to life and fed power into the servo-mechanicals of his suit. It felt and sounded like home.
Cain had anticipated the struggle between the Alliance and its colonies for his entire adult life, and he’d watched it unfold for the last several years feeling very much like a bystander. Now he was finally going to do something. He was going to do what he did best. His shoulder still hurt like hell, but nothing was keeping him out of the lander. Not now.
After he rescued General Holm, they escaped the Centauri system in Vance’s Torch and set a course for Armstrong. Cain had commanded the garrison there for almost two years, and he was confident they would rally to him. The Corps was in disarray, shaken to its very core by the treachery of General Samuels. Some Marines were still under Samuels orders, unaware that he had sold himself to Alliance Intelligence; others were declaring for Holm. Many supported the rebels on the various colony worlds, while others blamed separatist extremists for the destruction of the Academy, an act actually perpetrated by Alliance Intelligence to sow dissension and confusion in the Marine ranks. There were even rumors that Marine contingents were fighting each other on some of the Rim worlds, but Cain wouldn’t believe it. Not unless undeniable proof forced him to.
When they arrived at Armstrong they found a battalion of Directorate troops there already, and the Marines under orders from General Samuels to disarm. Erik’s old garrison had been reluctant to follow the unorthodox command and had delayed. They rallied instantly to his impassioned plea, and when the Directorate troops finally attacked, Erik’s Marines were ready. The battle was short and bloody – there was no time for finesse. The Marines crushed the less experienced Directorate troops and secured control of Armstrong.
Now he was finally about to land on Arcadia, answering the request he’d received from Will Thompson so long before. He had a rump battalion with him, about 400 strong. It was all he could spare and still hold Armstrong, and it was all the transport capacity Garret could get him on short notice anyway. But he’d put 400 of his veterans up against any force in occupied space.
Erik had launched a spread of probes, giving him a snapshot of the tactical situation on the planet. From what he could tell, the rebels were on the verge of defeat, pursued into the wilderness by the Directorate troops. The armored federal soldiers had been hunting down the exhausted and ill-equipped Arcadian forces. Things were about to change, though. Now they would have to face Erik Cain and his veteran Marines. Cain was outnumbered at least 4-1, but he’d match up one of his vets against any four Directorate hacks ever made.
It felt good to be back in his armor, back doing what he was trained to do. It was even a pleasure to have Hector nagging him again, though a couple years of inactivity had done nothing to improve the AI’s eclectic personality.
“Cut the shit, Hector.” Arguing with the virtual assistant felt just like old times. “I know we have very little information, but when we hit ground, I want you to work on connecting me with the rebel communications network.”
“Of course, general.” Hector’s voice was the same as always, calm and professional. There was a slightly obnoxious element to it as well, or at least Cain always thought so. “That is an obvious mission parameter. I was merely trying to advise you that it will be extremely difficult since we have very little information to utilize in making the linkup.”
The AIs were designed to develop personalities in response to those of the officers they served. In theory, this created a customized assistant compatible with the Marine, thereby reducing stress in the combat zone. In practice, there were occasionally unpredictable results.
Cain didn’t see any point in continuing the conversation; Hector knew what he needed to do. His visor was down, but he could see the launch status on the shimmering display projected on the inside of his helmet. They’d just been pressure-coated with heat-resistant foam. In less than a minute, they’d be on the way down to the surface.
“Second line, forward now!” Cain barked out the orders, and 100 Marines jumped out of their makeshift cover and jogged forward, covered by heavy fire from the first line. “Advance two hundred meters and assume firing positions.”
The Directorate troops were arrogant at first, anxious to take on Cain’s newly arrived Marines, especially since they had a massive numerical advantage. But the maneuverability and precise fire control of Erik’s people was proving to be too much for them. Now he had about a thousand of them trapped, bracketed against the mountains.
He had to be careful – the Feds he had trapped outnumbered his attacking troops almost 3-1. But in the last week he’d completely taken the initiative from the Directorate forces. They had considered themselves an elite unit, but now they were facing real combat veterans equipped as well as they were. In seven days, Cain and his Marines had completely shattered the morale of the federal forces.
The Marines had losses too, but they’d been fairly light. Erik had made maximum use of the training and experience of his troops, keeping constantly on the move, stinging the enemy and pulling away before they could hurt him. But now he’d maneuvered them where he wanted them. This would be the battle of annihilation.
“Second line, commence firing. First line, forward now!” He was leapfrogging forward, pushing the federals up against the rugged terrain to their rear. His troops were coming in from the center and right, forcing the enemy back and to the left. There was a hole there, or an apparent one. Cain had placed all his heavy weapons – SAWs, rocket launchers, mortar teams – in a depression just back from the opening in his line. He was baiting the enemy to pour through that breach…and right into the perfectly prepared fields of fire.
The Directorate troops had the numbers, but they’d been completely unnerved by a week of fighting Cain’s Marines. The aggressiveness of the Marines’ tactics was unlike anything they had ever seen. If they’d dug in and fough
t it out, their numbers might have carried the day, but their morale was broken. Unable to stand against the advance of the Marines, they poured right through the gap Cain had left for them…and they were massacred by the hidden heavy weapons. By nightfall the Directorate forces on Arcadia were crushed. There were small packets of troops holding out here and there, but as a fighting force they were finished.
“Kyle Warren.” Cain had popped his helmet, and he wore a broad smile on his face. “I see my efforts to make something useful out of you were not entirely wasted.” His smile morphed into a wicked grin.
Warren walked over to Cain. He was tired, his uniform torn and filthy. “General Cain.” His exhausted expression gave way to his own smile. “It is good to see you, sir.” He stood at attention, at least as much as his partially-treated wounds would allow, and he snapped off a textbook Marine salute.
“I’d give you a damned hug, Warren, if I didn’t think I squash you like an overripe tomato.” Both men laughed. Erik Cain wore his armor like a second skin, and they both knew it. He could have juggled peaches without bruising one.
“I don’t mind telling you, sir, you got here just in time.” Warren was thrilled to see Cain, but he had trouble keeping the bone-deep fatigue out of his voice.
“Not in time to save Will Thompson, I understand.” Cain’s smile faded, his voice turning wistful.
Kyle shook his head. “No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
Cain sighed. “He’s not the first friend I’ve lost, but it doesn’t get any easier.” He looked at Warren, and he could see how devastated the officer was about Thompson’s loss. He’d seen the same thing in all the other Arcadians he’d spoken with. Not just grief, but a somber reverence as well. “Will and I went way back. He was a Marine, that’s for sure.” He paused, his mind wandering back twenty years, to battlefields far from Arcadia. “And a friend.”
“That he was, sir.” Warren forced a tiny smile to his lips. “That he was.”
“I’ve gotten a partial history, Kyle.” He looked at Warren respectfully. “You and Will and your people have done something remarkable here. I know how much you paid; I know it as well as anyone could.” He took a short breath. “You should be proud. Of yourselves as well as Will.”
“Thank you, sir.” Warren’s voice was cracking slightly. He wasn’t prone to overly emotional responses, but Erik Cain was a hero to him, a legend. The praise meant more to him than Cain could ever know. “It means a lot to hear that, sir.” He paused. “For Will too.”
They stood silently for a moment, each drifting back to other places, other battles. Finally, Cain spoke up. “Well, General Warren, I believe we still have federal forces at large on Arcadia. Shall we discuss how to do something about that?”
Warren looked up at Cain, a big smile back on his face. “Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure.”
The rebellion on Arcadia reached its conclusion, not in a massive battle, but in a dozen small actions and a protracted campaign of maneuver. The Alliance army units had suffered heavy casualties in their victory at the Second Battle of Sander’s Dale, and they pulled back, waiting for the armored units to hunt down the last of the rebels. Merrick, assuming that the rebellion was all but defeated, had dispersed his strength to firm up his hold on the planetary population centers, preparatory to turning over control to Federal Police or some other permanent occupation force.
But then Cain’s Marines arrived and tore the Directorate troops to shreds, changing the situation almost overnight. Kyle Warren rallied the battered rebel army and led it south, first to reclaim Concordia and then to Arcadia City. Spearheaded by Cain’s armored veterans, they retook the city, raising the new Arcadian flag atop the shattered remains of the Assembly Hall for the first time since the early days of the rebellion.
Merrick reluctantly began to concentrate his forces to carry on the fight, but it quickly became hopeless. A naval squadron arrived, sent by Admiral Garret to support the Arcadians, and they landed large quantities of weapons and supplies. Across the planet morale soared, the beaten down populations rising up again. Arcadian flags were pulled from hiding places and flown from rooftops, and revolutionary rhetoric was again spoken in meeting places and at rallies.
Merrick engaged in a battle of maneuver with the resurgent rebels, but with his supplies and reinforcements cut off, he lacked the strength to take decisive action. Kyle Warren’s army grew, swelled by new recruits flowing in from every direction. When fresh Marine units arrived and joined Cain’s forces, Merrick knew it was over. Somberly, reluctantly he sent a communication to Warren asking for terms.
They met in a small building, a shed really. Sixty kilometers east of Arcadia, it was equidistant between the two largest troop concentrations. Warren could have insisted Merrick come to his camp, or he could have negotiated the entire thing by comlink, but in the end he decided the federal general had acted like a professional soldier, and he would treat him like one. The atrocities of the early war were never repeated, even when the rebels themselves committed a few of their own.
Cain went along with Warren, though he made it clear he was an observer, and the decisions were Kyle’s. They took a platoon of Cain’s troops as an escort – Warren had decided to treat Merrick with respect, but neither he nor Erik really trusted the federals.
“Hello, General Merrick.” Warren motioned toward the table he’d had set up in the room. “Please have a seat.”
Merrick stood stiffly, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Thank you, General Warren.” It grated on him to accord the rebel commander the dignity of his claimed rank, but there was nothing to be gained by petulance. “And thank you for meeting me so promptly.”
“Allow me to introduce General Erik Cain.” Warren walked toward the table as he spoke, pulling out a chair.
“It is my pleasure to meet you, General Cain.” So this was Erik Cain, Merrick thought with considerable surprise. No wonder Gravis and his Directorate troops were beaten so badly. An arrogant fool like Gravis had no chance against an officer of Cain’s ability.
Erik nodded to the federal commander. “The sentiment is mutual, General Merrick.” His voice was deadpan, non-committal. Cain was never good at pretending to respect people or to act like he cared when he didn’t.
Merrick took his cue from Warren and walked over to the table himself. “General Warren, as you are aware, the strategic situation has become problematic for my forces.” He waited until Warren took a seat, and then he sat down himself. “I am here to request a cessation of hostilities pending the evacuation of my forces from the planet.”
Warren cleared his throat. “General Merrick, I agree that nothing can be gained by further combat.” He stared over at the federal general. “However, I must insist that your forces surrender and agree to immediate disarmament.” Warren’s voice was firm, a little too hard-edged he thought, even as he was saying it. He quickly added, “I am prepared to guarantee the safety of your troops and to allow all federal forces to depart as soon as transport back to Earth can be arranged.
Merrick sat silently for a few seconds, thinking. He didn’t like the idea of laying down his arms and waiting indefinitely for transport. But he hadn’t really expected a better deal. If he kept fighting he could inflict casualties and cause damage, but he couldn’t change anything. In the end, his forces would be defeated and destroyed. “I accept your terms, General Warren.”
Cain stood in the corner of the room, silently watching the two men negotiate specifics. He was in his armor, and sitting would have been more trouble than it was worth…especially since there wasn’t a chair in the building that could hold him and the two metric tons of high-density metal in his suit. He spoke to himself, so softly he was really just mouthing the words. “Well, Will old friend, I brought you the help you asked me for.” There was a slight smile on his face as he thought about Thompson, about the battles they had fought together. More than anyone else, Will had been responsible for turning the young Erik Cain from a g
reen recruit into a Marine. Between war and duty and the vast distances of space, it had been years since the two had seen each other, but that hadn’t diminished the bond. When Will called, Erik Cain came, though his path ended up being far longer and less direct than he’d expected.
“Yes, I brought help to your world, Will. I’m just sorry I got here too late to save you.” His eyes looked straight ahead, but he was seeing scenes from years before. “Forgive me, old friend. One day I will see you in Valhalla. I’ll be the newb again, and you the old hand...just like before.”
Chapter 30
City of Weston
Columbia - Eta Cassiopeiae II
The air was thick with acrid smoke. Weston was burning, the District a blazing nightmare. Jill’s mob had descended on the city, like some nightmarish vision out of hell. They were filthy and enraged, broken souls now freed from their torment to exact a fearful vengeance.
Jill was at the front of the surging mass, holding a rifle taken from a dead guard and shouting. Her clothes were tattered rags, her hair a twisted, mud-caked mess. But her eyes burned with a crazed determination. It was as if she was possessed, the cheerful college student gone, utterly subsumed by an avenging spirit.
They stormed the checkpoints and guardposts, ignoring their own losses as they did. The guards gunned them down, but there were too many, and the federal soldiers were trampled under the surging sea of humanity. The bodies of the Alliance troops were mutilated and carried along by the raging mob as it swept through the streets of the city.
