by Jay Allan
“You think the Columbia operation is underway?” Teller tried to hide his concern, but he was only marginally successful. Columbia was a crucial target, one of the Alliance’s biggest and most important colonies. But Stark knew that too, and he’d sent a massive invasion force to take the planet. There had been a few early reports from the defenders, but nothing since, and it was generally assumed they’d been overwhelmed and destroyed – and the Shadow Legions had been digging in for months. There was little doubt in Teller’s mind – or Cain’s – that the liberation of the planet would be a bloodbath.
“I don’t know, Jim.” Cain’s voice was grim, somber. They both had friends in that invasion force, Marines of course, but also some of the Janissaries. The two forces, allies now after years as enemies, had fought together initially against the First Imperium and then again on Armstrong, where the Janissaries had saved Cain’s forces from destruction. He felt a twinge in his stomach. It seemed wrong for his friends to be going into a brutal fight without him. But he knew he had no choice. He had to follow through on what he was doing. He had to kill Gavin Stark.
He turned and stared at Teller. “I just don’t know,” he repeated. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “But they’ve got their job to do, and we’ve got ours.” He turned to face Teller. “And that job is finding the man behind all of this.”
He looked down at the floor for a few seconds, thinking, analyzing everything they knew. “Things are coming to a head on Earth,” he said suddenly. “If I know Gavin Stark, he’s going to do everything he can to push the Superpowers over the brink so he can come in and pick up the pieces.”
“But Roderick Vance’s expedition destroyed his base.” Teller’s voice was grim. The Martian nuclear attack had obliterated Stark’s secret facility destroying almost a million of his Shadow Legion clones. It had killed at least another million Alliance citizens as well, victims of radiation and fallout from the bombardment.
“That was a help, but I seriously doubt Gavin Stark had all his Earth-based resources in one place.” Cain had sworn he would never again underestimate Stark, and he was determined to make good on that pledge. “Vance’s attack hurt him, no doubt, but it’s a certainty he’s got more clones stashed somewhere.” He paused. “And when he’s pushed the Superpowers to the final confrontation, he’ll release them against the last remnants of their armies.” Another pause. “And then he’ll rule Earth. All of it.”
Cain had a hunch, nothing but a guess really, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Stark was stalemated in the colonies, too afraid of Garret to do anything but dig in on the worlds he occupied and hope the Corps dashed itself to pieces assaulting his defenses. But Earth was a different story.
He turned back toward Jennings. “Captain…” Cain stared straight ahead, but his thoughts were elsewhere, imagining the plans going through Stark’s twisted mind. “…please plot a course to the Sol system.” Yes, he thought with any icy hatred, that’s where we’ll find him. There to finish the job at home while Garret’s fleet is busy escorting the Columbia invasion force. “Fastest possible time, if you please, Captain. No matter how much time we need to spend buttoned up in the tanks.”
Cain stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over, his fists clenched. I know you’ll be there, he thought darkly. I’ve finally got you, you son of a bitch.
Chapter 2
Admiral’s Workroom
AS Pershing
Orbiting Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II
Augustus Garret sat at his desk, staring across at General Catherine Gilson, acting Commandant of the Alliance Marine Corps. It had been more than half a year, but it was still a shock to look at that chair and not see Elias Holm sitting there. Garret and Holm had forged a highly effective partnership over their years in command of the respective services, and a close friendship as well. Now Holm was gone, another friend and comrade lost to the endless wars that seemed to plague man wherever he went.
Garret had seen so many killed in his years of battle there was nothing left inside but an aching numbness. He’d witnessed more death and suffering than any man was intended to endure, but duty owned his soul, and it commanded him ever onward, wherever the call of battle echoed out to him.
The struggle against Gavin Stark’s Shadow Legions was his fourth war. He’d been blooded in the Second Frontier War, and he’d gotten his first taste of true sacrifice in that conflict. He’d survived that struggle, and the pain and loss it had caused him, to become a hero leading the massively expanded fleets of the Third Frontier War. But it wasn’t until the First Imperium War that he became a true legend, the most feared and celebrated warrior in human space, and perhaps in all history itself.
His list of victories had grown, one great battle after another won, but no triumph, no matter how swift or complete, ever seemed to achieve peace. Now he was at war again, not facing the robotic legions of long-dead aliens, but against a human monster, a psychopathic genius bent on total domination of mankind. It never ended, he thought grimly, the constant sacrifice, the endless bloodshed. Now he would lead his people into the fight again, but would victory this time bring a lasting peace or just more suffering and death?
Gilson was fidgeting nervously, clearly uncomfortable to be sitting on the fleet flagship while her Marines were preparing to hit the ground. Indeed, she had fully intended to go down with the first wave, ignoring all objections from her officers. Finally, Garret had prevailed on her that her duty was to coordinate the entire attack, not to get herself killed in some pointless gesture. She owed it to her Marines, he had said. She owed it to them to stay alive and give them the leadership they needed to win and survive this new battle.
Gilson had been ready to argue, but she, like the rest of her fellow officers, considered Garret to be the overall Alliance commander, though officially he only led the navy. Unable to ignore Garret’s wishes, she reluctantly agreed to manage the invasion from the flagship. Augustus Garret was famous throughout occupied space, the man who had stopped the First Imperium and saved mankind from total destruction. Elias Holm, Erik Cain – and Gilson herself – had all won their own share of fame and glory in that terrible conflict, but Fleet Admiral Garret had received the largest share of acclaim, even from his own peers, though he wanted none of it.
Garret hated the hero worship, the senseless acclaim he received wherever he went. His own people were the worst offenders, and he’d come to dread that starry eyed look they gave him, the awestruck silence in the ranks as he passed by. He’d long ago lost his taste for glory, far too familiar with its often heartrending price. The victory against the First Imperium had saved humanity, but it had cost Garret his soul. In his own mind he wasn’t a hero; he was a butcher, leading thousands to their deaths and worse. The fact that those sacrifices were necessary, that they had saved millions, was enough reason to do what he had done, but not to forgive himself for the cost. He’d sacrificed friendship, even love, to achieve his victories, and the taste was bitter in his mouth.
He’d never forgive himself for what he had done in that final battle on the frontier, how he’d left his best friend and 40,000 Marines and naval personnel behind, trapped at the mercy of a massive fleet of First Imperium vessels. His friends and comrades had told him again and again he’d had no choice, and Garret himself knew that was true. But no one else seemed to understand it just didn’t matter. Some acts were so horrifying, so soul-killing, no amount of justification could make a difference. Some things you did killed the part of you that made you human.
“The first waves will be launching in three minutes.” Ali Khaled sat next to Gilson. The former Caliphate commander, now a fugitive from his nation along with all his men, sat next to Gilson, staring at a bank of monitors along the wall. Some showed live shots of the activities in the assault bays, while others displayed lists of stats and projected launch times.
“Yes.” Gilson nodded, her own eyes fixed on the monitors. “General Heath is in command of the lead eleme
nts.” Then-Colonel Heath had served well on Arcadia, when Gilson’s forces returned from the frontier and reinforced the battered Marines James Teller and Elias Holm had led to the aid of the locals. She’d given him his star for it, and now he was commanding the advance elements of the invasion force, proof she thought grimly, that no good deed goes unpunished. Heath’s people would be landing in the teeth of the enemy defenses, and they’d be outnumbered and under constant fire as they clawed to carve a foothold for the rest of the forces to land.
James Teller would have been her first choice to command the vanguard, but he was off with Erik Cain, chasing Gavin Stark. Teller was Cain’s protégé, much as Cain had been Holm’s. When Erik decided to hunt down Stark, Teller had followed him without a second thought. She had both men’s stars in her desk, waiting for them to return and claim them. She’d wished more than once that they were with her, helping to lead the Corps into this new fight, but she understood why they had made the choices they had. And, if they were successful in finding and killing Stark, perhaps they would do more to end this war than the entire strike force about to invade Columbia. Maybe they could wear those stars again in peacetime, helping her rebuild the shattered Corps.
Nevertheless, Gilson had tried to convince Cain to stay, and Garret had thrown his own efforts behind hers. But Erik Cain was as stubborn as any human being who’d ever lived, and he grimly declined both their entreaties. Killing Stark was not only vengeance for General Holm, he’d declared, but the best way to defeat the Shadow Legions. Stark had been their enemy for years, secretly plotting against them before he declared openly and launched his Shadow Legions to conquer occupied space. He’d been a cancer consuming the body of the navy and the Corps, even as they struggled against the robot legions of the First Imperium. Stark had worked against them as far back as the Third Frontier War and the rebellions, engineering Rafael Samuels’ treachery that had almost destroyed the Corps.
Lop the head off, Cain had said simply, and the body will die. There could be no peace while Stark lived. He was too capable, too intelligent – too evil. He would never stop, and no victory could be final while he still lived.
Garret and Gilson had argued with him, but they both knew Cain was right. If he and Teller succeeded, if they found and killed Gavin Stark, maybe this war could be stopped before the last veterans of the Corps and their Janissary allies were gone. Thousands were already dead, lost in the endless, brutal battles. Perhaps Cain’s pursuit of vengeance could save the few who remained, and the Corps itself with them.
The three officers stared at the monitors, waiting for the launches to begin. There was an eerie quiet in the room, an absence that each of them felt keenly. They all knew Elias Holm was dead, of course, yet it seemed every time one of them turned around, they expected to see him standing there, calmly directing the invasion force. It had been six months, but the loss was still fresh, a wound that wouldn’t heal.
Gilson’s emotions were volatile. Despite her understanding of his motives and the potential rewards of his success, she was angry at Cain for leaving her to fill Holm’s shoes by herself. Worse, she envied him. She wanted to hunt Stark down herself, to kill the psychopathic bastard with her own hands. Her feelings had been confusing at first, threatening to tear her apart, but she’d made peace with the whole thing. Cain was the right one to pursue Stark. She had been close to Holm, a loyal officer and a comrade through decades of brutal fighting, but Erik Cain had been like a son to the fallen Commandant. It was his right to go after Stark, even more than hers, and she’d come to realize and accept that.
Besides, Cain was the right man for the job. The grim Marine had a dark side, a coldness and a relentless determination Gilson knew she couldn’t match. Cain would follow every lead, and he would do whatever had to be done to track his prey. Whatever had to be done - those were dangerous words, ones she wasn’t sure she could back up with the brutal ferocity she knew Cain would.
“Admiral Garret, General Heath requests permission to commence his launch, sir.” Tara Rourke’s voice was clear and confident on the comlink. She’d been Garret’s flag tactical officer for several years now, and he’d declared more than once that she was the best junior officer who’d ever served under him.
Garret glanced across the desk at Gilson. “It’s your order, General.” He flipped a button. “Your link is live.”
Gilson nodded softly. “Attention all Marines, this is General Catherine Gilson.” The Marines had liberated a number of smaller worlds over the past six months, but this was the first major planetary assault since Arcadia and Armstrong, and she could feel the tension in her gut. “You are about to liberate one of the oldest and most populated colony worlds in human-occupied space, a planet that has seen more than its share of war and destruction in its century of human habitation.” She hoped it was still one of the most populated. The enemy had been there for 18 months, and the Columbians were well-known for their willingness to resist, whatever the cost. She was deathly afraid they had paid that price in blood.
“As always, you have my utmost confidence. You are battered and tired. We have all suffered terrible losses and grief. You have fought without rest, struggled from one end of human space to the other and even into the First Imperium itself. No men and women could be expected to do what you have done, let alone more. But you are Marines first, and men and women second. In the final accounting, that is all that matters. Marines are always ready to do the job, to fight whatever battles must be fought.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And there are struggles yet to be won.”
She hesitated, pushing back the tears she could feel welling up in her eyes. “I know that General Holm would be proud to see you all today, ready to fight another battle for freedom. Know as you go forward into the fight once again that he is with you, as he will be forever. You are the Marines he helped to make you, and I know you will live up to that standard.”
She glanced over at Khaled. “In this fight, as in our last one, we have allies, men who once fought against us, but now stand at our sides as friends. They are honorable warriors who march to the fire alongside us, and they have earned our trust and our respect. We are grateful for their aid and proud to fight at their sides.”
She swallowed hard and sucked in another breath. “Go now, and fight with the valor all have come to expect from you. Go and free our people on Columbia and destroy the Shadow Legion invaders. Show the enemy just what Marines can do. Forward, to victory.” She cut the line and turned toward Garret and nodded. “Commence the landing.”
All around Columbia, men and women sprang into action at Gilson’s order. Transports fired their thrusters, moving into low orbits, positioning themselves to launch their Marine and Janissary contingents into Columbia’s upper atmosphere. Escort ships maneuvered to cover their movements, providing protection and close support. Farther out, the battlefleets and logistical trains were moved into position.
Columbia was surrounded by almost all the military might Garret and Gilson could muster. The combined fleet was divided into three task forces plus the former Caliphate ships under Admiral Abbas. It was an awesome display of naval power, and Garret was practically daring Stark to come out of hiding with his fleet and offer battle.
Taskforce One was commanded by Elizabeth Arlington, and it was in close orbit, protecting the transport armada. The troopships themselves were in a long line, ready to begin launching dropships into the upper atmosphere. The Marines and Janissaries onboard were suited up and loaded onto their landing craft, waiting for the final order. Arlington’s warships were in high orbit, covering the transports from any enemy that might slip past the heavier fleet units on station farther out.
Taskforce Two, under Admiral Michael Jacobs, had been the first units to approach the planet. They’d conducted a pre-invasion bombardment, blasting any enemy positions they could identify and target without undue danger to civilian populations. Jacob’s ships were on the move now, half pulling away from the planet to rear
m, the rest taking position to provide support to the Marines on the ground.
Taskforce Three, under Camille Harmon, was the largest, with most of the heavy capital ships. Harmon’s force was organized for one mission, and one mission only, to blast the hell out of any enemy ships that tried to interfere with the invasion force. Her units were posted about three light minutes from the planet, along with Abbas’ Caliphate ships. They hadn’t detected any enemy naval presence, but they were on full alert anyway. Garret and Harmon were aware of Stark’s unpredictability, and they weren’t taking any chances. Harmon had scoutships patrolling the entire system, and her combat elements were ready to destroy any naval force that approached Columbia without authorization.
Garret stared at his screen, though he’d committed every detail of the fleet and operation to memory. He knew every ship under his command, and its position and its orders. His people were ready for whatever had to be done, and Gilson’s as well. That wasn’t what worried him. It was supply that most concerned him. They had managed to scrounge up enough to launch the Columbia invasion, but now the logistical situation was becoming dire. He was watching numbers scroll slowly across the screen, and his frown deepened as he thought about how low his stores had become.
Provisioning Gilson’s Marines for the invasion had almost depleted the fleet’s stores, and many of his own ships carried half-loads of missiles and other ordnance. He’d tried to contact the high command on Earth a dozen times, but he’d been unable to get through. There were no shipments of supplies coming through, no orders, no news. He’d tried to keep his focus on the crises at hand, but now he was really worried. What was happening on Earth?
