by Jay Allan
Admiral Terrance Compton sat on the flag bridge of the AS Saratoga, scanning status reports as fleet units transited to the system and maneuvered into position. It was still surreal to him to be in command. Compton had served with Augustus Garret since they'd both graduated from the Academy. They had raised hell together as junior officers, and they became two of the most notorious fast attack ship commanders in the Second Frontier War, racking up a list of kills that still stood as a record.
Compton was no stranger to the pressure of command, but this time it was different. He could feel his insides twisted into knots; part of him wanted to run to some desolate place and mourn his friend. But he didn't have the luxury to weep for a fallen brother. The fleet had lost its leader, its hero, its very heart and soul, but despite their pain and loss, the war went on. His memorial to his friend would be simple and expedient. He would give Garret's people what they needed; he would pull them through this terrible loss, single-handedly if he must, and lead them to victory. He could think of no more fitting way to honor the great man.
He shoved his grief down into the deep recesses of his mind and then obsessed over every detail of the fleet's operation, as if he would fail Garret if a blown lighting track in a cargo hold went unreplaced. He'd been running the crew ragged to make sure things were perfect; the last thing any of them needed was time to think anyway.
But now he was worried. Not because of the data streaming into his control center or any new intel, but in his gut. Things didn't feel right. The enemy had hit this place, apparently with enough force to take out an entire battlegroup as well as the orbital forts, but they didn't contest his entry at all. It smelled like a trap to him, but he couldn't figure it out. His orders left him little latitude, either to halt or even delay the mission, so if it was a trap he had no choice but to advance into it. But he was going to proceed cautiously, orders or no.
He waited until the battle fleet was assembled before proceeding deeper into the system. If there was a hidden enemy waiting, he wanted to be ready. He had a powerful fleet - four battlegroups plus the PRC cruisers. The Saratoga and the Cambrai along with their escorts had left Gliese 250 with Cromwell and Admiral Garret. The Hastings and the Greene had been part of the force sent to forestall the attack on Garret. Having arrived too late to save Cromwell and the admiral, but early enough to catch the depleted CAC ships as they retired, the relief force exacted a terrible revenge, wrecking Liang Chang's fleet and taking the admiral himself prisoner. The bulk of the task force then reinforced Compton, more than replacing the firepower lost with Cromwell.
The combined fleet continued to Columbia, where they were met by the resupply convoy and brought up to strength with missiles and bombers. They linked up with General Holm's I Corps and their array of transports and set out for Epsilon Eridani.
That massive force of transports and assault ships now waited on the other side of the warp gate. Compton was going to be absolutely sure things were clear before he allowed them to transit. This was no smash and grab raid. Waiting on the other side of the gate was the biggest land force the Alliance had ever assembled for war on the frontier. If this was a trap - if Compton's misgivings were borne out - there was no need to compound the loss of warships by having 45,000 veteran ground troops killed on their largely defenseless transports.
The fleet took a day to maneuver into formation and, once formed up, they accelerated toward planet four. Compton ordered scoutships off in all directions, and they sent probes even further out, seeking to insure that they left no hidden enemy force behind them. But for all Compton's meticulous efforts, there were no contacts at all by the time the fleet's probes had reach scanning range of Epsilon Eridani IV.
The probes' data continued along the same unexpected line. There was no enemy fleet anywhere within detection range; the planet was entirely undefended. Compton studied every piece of incoming information, trying to understand what was happening, and his AI fed him probe data as soon as it was received and decrypted.
"Commander Simmons, order Captain Johan to take her squadron to the planet. I want her to scout the entire area and report back. Have her make her best time; I want this information five minutes ago." Compton snapped out the order even while his AI was still sending him reports from the probes.
"Yes, sir." William Simmons was Compton's tactical officer. Garret's entire staff had been lost with him, so Compton's people inherited their roles, just as the admiral himself had been compelled to step into Garret's big shoes. "Estimated best time to arrival, one day, seven hours, ten minutes."
"Joker, send a flash message to the transport fleet. They are to remain in position until the attack squadron has scouted the planet." Joker was Compton's AI, a concession to the admiral's fondness for playing cards, something he'd done with tremendous success until increasing rank made the whole enterprise a bit unseemly.
"Yes, sir. Sending flash message to Hudson now." The AS Hudson was one of two light cruisers deployed near the warp gate to relay messages through by drone. No doubt General Garret's men and women would grumble at another day and a half of delay, but Compton was going to be sure before he put them at risk. They'd just have to wait.
The Pendragon had been decelerating at 4g for almost a day when the ship went into freefall along with the rest of the first wave of transports. They'd been cleared for orbital insertion, and were on their final approach to Carson's World.
They had been compelled to wait several days longer than expected before transiting into Epsilon Eridani. Admiral Compton had been suspicious when he had found no enemy force waiting to engage him, and he'd repeatedly postponed the transports' entry while he scanned the entire area between the warp gate and the planet.
Compton had found debris from the battle that had been fought here several months before. The fortresses, which had been substantial defensive works, were gutted wrecks…dead hulks still orbiting the planet. It was clear that a major fight had occurred here; there were ruined, lifeless ships and debris scattered over a wide area.
The admiral had half a dozen ships out collecting and analyzing the debris. In the absence of any friendly or enemy forces, the wreckage was his best hope of reconstructing what had happened here. Meanwhile, though his gut was still flashing him a dire warning, he could think of no further reasons to delay the landings without violating his orders outright.
The Pendragon, carrying Erik Cain and his special action battalion, slid into orbit alongside her brethren, and launched a spread of planetary probes. The entire transport fleet was doing the same, sending small drones into the atmosphere of Carson's World, scanning for enemy positions and troop concentrations.
The battle computers would analyze the data from a thousand probes and create a projection of enemy strength on the ground. As Erik knew from long and often bitter experience, it would be a relatively unreliable guide to what they would face. There were just too many places to hide troops on an entire planet, too many ways to interfere with scans. The heavy elements present on a mining world like Epsilon Eridani IV interfered with detection devices, making it even more difficult to create accurate estimates. Then-Colonel Holm had used this fact to devastating effect during the last ditch defense of Columbia a few years back, and Erik himself had been with the hidden forces that had surprised the CAC invaders.
Carson's World no longer had a civilian population, so the Pendragon and other assault ships were able to conduct a heavy orbital bombardment, targeting troop concentrations identified by the probes. The enemy had built some hasty strongpoints, and the fleet blasted them hard, dropping small nuclear warheads on the toughest positions. Job one for the orbital assault was to clear out as much of the enemy's air interdiction capability as possible so the landing craft and atmospheric fighters weren't overwhelmed by fire from the ground. If ground units were also depleted or disordered, that was a bonus.
The bombardment lasted only a few hours, and then the guns and launchers of the assault ships fell silent. It was time for
men and woman to take ground the old fashioned way, meter by meter.
A tight beam laser communication link connected the Saratoga, positioned 100,000 kilometers from the planet with the heavy assault ship Tinian, currently in orbit. On an encrypted line, two men were having a final discussion before the landing craft were launched.
"Something is off, Elias. I'm sure of it." Compton was uneasy, and it came through in his tone. It took just under a second for the transmission to reach Holm's ship and the same for his response to get back to Saratoga. Compton was used to the hitch in these types of communications, but he still found it irritating, especially when he was already tense. He'd have preferred to meet face to face with Holm, but they both had jobs to do and no time for the indulgence of shuttling back and forth.
"I've had misgivings since I got these orders on Columbia." Holm paused briefly, exacerbating the delay on Compton's end. "There is a lot about this mission we just don't know, but I don't see any options. Our orders are crystal clear."
Holm sat at his desk, alone for the moment, though he'd found it increasingly difficult to shake his political officer. Colonel Killian was a cut above the other liaison officers, and Holm kept reminding himself not to underestimate the man. Most of the others seemed to be Political Academy graduates of relative obscurity, but Killian's family was very well placed; he even had an uncle in the Senate. Clearly, I Corps commander had been considered worthy of a true watchdog.
"You're right. We don't have a choice. I delayed on my end as long as I could. We've got to start your landings, but I can't believe there isn't more down there than a reinforced CAC brigade. If we're not missing something, Alliance Intelligence really screwed the pooch by sending so much force here."
"I'm sure they have some surprises for us down there," Holm replied. "Whatever is hiding planetside, my people will dig it out; I'm sure of that." He let out a deep breath. "I've got to get to work, Terrance. I'm commencing my landing in 90 minutes."
"Very well." Compton's voice was tense. He'd been as careful as possible, taken every precaution he could think of…but still he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "The fleet is in position, and I have scoutships conducting a deeper probe of the system." He hesitated then added, "And Elias?"
"Yes, Terrance?"
"Be careful."
“You too, my friend.”
Chapter 14
Launch Bay Alpha AS Pendragon In orbit around Epsilon Eridani IV
The launch bay felt a little surreal to Cain as he stood bolted into the lander awaiting the final launch countdown. A lifetime ago, another Erik Cain stood in a lander waiting to launch out into this very airspace. My god, he thought, has it really been fourteen years? Was I ever that young?
He'd come full circle. Carson's World had been the site of his first mission, and he'd walked into the launch bay back then as a junior private, sweating with fear and desperately trying to remember everything he'd learned in training. The fear was still there; anyone sane would be afraid, though he'd learned to temper it and push it out of his mind. But the training had become second nature and the years of experience had transformed him forever.
Will Thompson had been the senior private in the squad on that first raid, and he'd looked out for Cain, then and later on too. More than anyone, Thompson had helped turn that raw recruit into a competent Marine. He was Cain's first real friend in the Corps, and he'd guided Erik not just on the battlefield, but also about many small things, like how to make life on a spaceship tolerable. They'd served together for three years until Thompson was wounded during the disastrous Operation Achilles, an event that left Cain in command of the squad.
Thompson had gone to the Academy after his recovery, but he was badly injured again, this time in a training accident, and he did another year in the hospital. He retired out of the service shortly after that, and though he had never finished his Academy training, he was mustered out as a lieutenant. Erik had heard he'd settled down on Arcadia, but he wasn't certain.
The support Erik had gotten from the more experienced men and women of the squad made an enormous impression on the young soldier. It was the first time in his life he'd seen people working selflessly together, and he was determined to pay his debt to his old comrades by helping those who came after him. As Cain advanced through the ranks he had never forgotten the way he'd been welcomed into the squad, and he committed himself to watching over the troops under his command, using all his experience and training to help them survive on the battlefield. And the ones that didn't make it, the ones Cain felt he'd failed - they lived with him, tugging at his conscience in the night.
The first time he had bolted himself into a lander to assault Carson's World he had been blissfully without command responsibility. He didn't question why he was there, didn't even worry about what they were doing. All he had to think about was following orders from his team and squad leaders.
This time his burdens were far greater. An entire brigade was dropping with him - 3,600 - troops, and he was responsible for every one of them. They were the vanguard, the spearpoint of the 45,000-strong I Corps, and they were about to launch on a mission that had Cain very worried.
He felt the Pendragon shake; it was the atmospheric fighters launching from their bay in the belly of the great ship. Pendragon carried a squadron of six, and they were going down to strafe and bomb the landing area before his troops hit the ground. It was another testament to the escalation of battles in this war. The last time he was on Carson's World the Marines had no such supporting arms - not even a tank or an artillery piece, and certainly no aircraft. Other than their expended Gordon landers providing limited supporting fire, it was just the Marines on foot. Cain hadn't even seen an atmospheric fighter until Operation Achilles, though the pilots earned their pay in that debacle, saving the invasion force from being overrun more than once. In doing it, they'd actually managed to suffer a higher casualty rate than the ground-pounders, who had lost over 80% killed and wounded. No Marine who fought in Achilles ever said a negative word about pilots after that battle, and anyone who did in their presence was likely to buy a world of hurt.
The Pendragon's launch bays were a scene of meticulous efficiency. Cain had led some excellent troops before, but never anything quite like the battalion billeted with him on Pendragon. There wasn't a soldier onboard who had not made at least five assaults. The special action teams had started as an elite company, trained by Erik Cain as a reaction force. When they'd contributed to humiliating the 2nd Brigade in a series of wargames, the general had asked Erik to expand the force to battalion strength. He'd swept every formation in I Corps, armed with Holm's authority to appropriate any personnel he felt he needed. He suspected a few of the other unit commanders had made some disparaging and anatomically improbable remarks as he absconded with their veterans, but in fact he was very restrained and only took a few from each formation.
Now his elite force was going to get its true test, not just in battle, but executing the special mission General Holm had given Erik. There was some reason I Corps had been sent to retake Carson's World, something that was being hidden from them. They were going to find out what it was, and they were going to do it without calling attention to themselves.
"Initiating final launch countdown." The tinny voice of the battle computer roused Cain out of his introspection. "Depressurizing launch bay."
Cain's blast shield snapped shut, blocking his view of the landing bay. He couldn't see or feel it, of course, but he knew that they were being pressure-coated with heat resistant foam. A few seconds later the outer doors opened.
"Good luck, Marines!" Cain had heard a ship captain give that sendoff more times than he could remember. It was a tradition almost as old as man fighting in space, and one that was universally loved. He couldn't explain it, but it was inspiring. Even after all his battles, it still worked its magic on him; the effect on the less experienced troops was enormous.
Cain gritted his teeth
just before the catapult blasted the lander out of the ship and into the upper atmosphere of Carson's World. Even in armor, every bone in his body felt the jarring as the magnetic launch catapult rapidly accelerated the Gordon down the guiding track and out of the Pendragon's bay.
Enemy fire was very light; the orbital bombardment had been extremely effective, and the atmospheric fighters were flying sorties against any missile launcher or weapons platform that gave away its location. The enemy took some potshots, but nothing that seriously threatened the landing.
The lander zigzagged its way to the surface, executing the wild evasive maneuvers designed to thwart enemy fire. The heat resistant foam began to blacken and break away as the atmospheric density increased. Cain had been through this dozens of times, but he still felt a small thrill when the blast shield snapped back and he could see again.
Sixteen minutes after launch the Gordon fired its breaking thrusters, and they set down gently in the middle of a large, open plain. The locking bolts retracted, and the Marines onboard snapped right out of their harnesses, moving out and taking a position around the lander, ready for action. They were pretty sure there were no enemy troops within range, but carelessness is how Marines end up dead, and these were veterans.
Cain looked out over the terrain. All around the lander, the greenish-yellow fungus that covered the ground was burned and blackened from the heat of the thrusters. Looking up he could see Gordons coming down all over the field, with an LZ every quarter klick. It looked like the landing was going perfectly, and Erik let himself imagine that all his people got down to the surface safely for once…an illusion he was only able to maintain for a few minutes before he got the report of the first fatality. Fire had been very light, but one of the Gordon's had taken a hit coming in. The computer tried to land the ship but lost it on the final approach, and it crashed, killing six of the ten Marines onboard.
