by Jay Allan
The heavy steel doors of the armory slid open as they approached, revealing long rows of harnesses. Most of them held suits of armor, blackened and pitted from recent action. Worthington had come up in the last wave, and most of the Marines from the Anvil and HQ forces had already embarked. The armorers would face weeks of work repairing and re-arming the fighting suits, though with the declaration of peace, it didn’t seem likely they would be needed any time soon.
“I’ll feel better when everyone is off-planet.” Worthington backed into one of the harnesses, expertly guiding his suit into the locking bolts. “This whole thing still stinks to me, and I don’t like leaving any of my people behind.” Worthington had wanted to shuttle over to Hammer’s location and come up with Holm and his people, but he’d been expressly ordered to remain with the HQ group. “There’s another shoe to drop…I can feel it.” There was a loud cracking sound as Worthington popped his suit and stepped out, buck naked and covered in almost two weeks of sweat and grime. A fighting suit kept you fed, medicated, and tended to your normal bodily functions…but they hadn’t developed armor yet that offered a hot shower. “Something’s wrong.” He was shaking his head in disgust as he opened a small locker and pulled out a gray jumpsuit.
Kell popped his suit and jumped out next to Worthington. He leaned down, reaching into one of the lockers and grabbing his own set of the zip-up fatigues. “It was sudden, sir, but we can’t know everything involved. There must be a reason the evac was so rushed.” He climbed into the suit and zipped it. Then he pulled out a pair of soft rubber-soled shoes and slipped them on.
“I hope you’re right, captain.” Worthington slid on his second shoe and stood up. He turned and looked over toward Kell. There was a long, hot shower in his future, but it was going to wait until all his people were back on their ships. “Let’s get to the command center. I want to monitor Hammer’s evac.” He took a small comlink from the locker and slipped it into his ear before turning and walking across the armory and opening the hatch to the main corridor. Kell followed right on his heels, still jamming his foot into one of his shoes.
“General Worthington.” His com crackled to life a few seconds later. “This is Captain Craig in the combat command center.”
“Yes captain…” – Worthington’s response was instantaneous – “…what is it?”
“Sir, there have been several nuclear explosions in orbit. It doesn’t appear any attacks were targeted against the fleet, but we just lost contact with Force Hammer, sir.”
Worthington stopped in place. “All contact?”
“Yes, general.” Worthington knew what the captain was going to say before it came through on the com. “The detonations appear to have generated considerable EMP, and the after-effects are jamming our orbit-to-surface communications. Admiral Clement initially placed the fleet on alert, but it was canceled a few minutes later without explanation. I’ve been unable to reach the flagship since. We have a clear line, but they are not responding.”
“Captain, I want all units on immediate alert. First and Second Battalions are to report…” He could hear a strange hollowness on the com. “Captain? Captain Craig?”
“I’m afraid I have had to temporarily disable your communications, General Worthington.” The voice came from behind, and the general snapped around just in time to see half a dozen armed men walk around the corner.
“What is the meaning of this?” Worthington’s roar seemed to rattle the walls.
“I intend you no harm, general, I assure you.”
Worthington’s eyes focused on the man speaking, the apparent leader of the group. He recognized him, though it took a few seconds for it to gel. He was an Alliance Intelligence operative, a very high ranking one if he remembered correctly. “Look, Mr…Dutton, isn’t it?” Worthington walked down the hall, glaring angrily. He completely ignored the armed men and the assault rifles pointed at his chest. “I don’t have time for whatever bullshit this is, so if you just…”
“I am sorry, general, but I am afraid I have orders from the highest authority to temporarily detain you and your aide.” He stepped toward Worthington and handed him a small ‘pad. “I must ask you to come along voluntarily, or we will be forced to restrain you and arrest you for insubordination.”
Kell felt a chill work through his body as he watched in astonishment. The senior field commander of the Marine Corps was being arrested. He knew Viper Worthington…far better than these Alliance Intelligence hacks did, and he didn’t see the general going along peacefully.
He was sure the Marines on board would intervene…if they knew what was happening. These operatives may have cut the comlinks, Kell thought, but he still had a portable field link in his pocket. It was a backup unit designed for use in case of an armor failure on the battlefield. Normally, he’d have left it in his locker, but it had been a little staticky when he’d last used it, and he wanted to take it to the lab and get it checked out. There was no way to pull it out and contact anyone, not before the agents grabbed it…or just shot him. But he managed to put his hand in his pocket and flip it on without anyone noticing. The unit would be on the Marine emergency frequency, which the thugs standing in the corridor were hopefully not monitoring. He couldn’t call for help, but he might be able to let other Marines know what was happening. That just might be enough.
“Why is Alliance Intelligence arresting General Worthington?” Kell almost shouted the question, speaking for the benefit of anyone listening to his com unit, but trying to sound like he was losing just his temper.
“Silence, captain.” Dutton’s tone was sharp, icy. “Do not make the matter worse by resisting. You will both be released after a short confinement if you cooperate. If not, I’m afraid things could be far less pleasant.”
“Mr. Dutton…” – Worthington’s voice bellowed from his throat with all the subtlety of an erupting volcano – “…I am quite finished with this nonsense.” He turned and started back down the corridor, away from the cluster of guards.
“I am warning you for the last time, general.” Dutton did not raise his voice, but the threat was unmistakable in his tone. “Surrender at once.” He gestured with his arm, and the guards raised their rifles.
Worthington stopped. His anger was surging, but he clamped down hard on it, grimly controlling himself. He’d play for time. It was the smart play. Getting shot here wasn’t going to help anything, and he’d probably get poor Kell killed too if he made a stand. They may have him captive, but they were on a ship full of Marines, and Dutton was going to have a hard time keeping him a prisoner here or sneaking him off with no one knowing.
“This is far from over, Dutton.” His voice was like solid ice. He stood stone still, staring into the spymaster’s eyes with a blazing hatred. “Far from over,” he repeated, as the guards ran up and put shackles on his wrists.
Chapter 10
Anvil Force HQ
Yellow Sand Valley
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Nine
Holm was nervous. It didn’t make sense. None of it. He wanted to give himself up to joy, to rejoice and celebrate the peace like everyone else seemed to be doing. But something was wrong. He didn’t know what it was, but he was convinced, and he just couldn’t put the nagging feeling aside. He was tense, unsettled. He’d come down hard on anyone who started celebrating, reminding them they were still on active duty in a combat zone. There would be time enough for that nonsense aboard ship. He wasn’t going to tolerate it on the surface of an enemy planet. Let them think he was a first class, titanium hardass if they wanted to…he was only concerned with getting them off this rock alive. If he was wrong, he’d be the first one to admit it…and the drinks would be on him. But he wasn’t wrong. He was sure of it.
“The first wave of landers should be launching shortly, sir.” Masur stood just behind Holm, looking out over the valley filled with Marines. There was activity everywhere, the men and women of Force
Hammer rushing around across the hillsides like a swarm of ants, preparing to ship out. Masur knew they wanted to celebrate the coming of peace, but they were following Holm’s orders to the letter. Every work party was accompanied by a squad fully prepped for battle. Masur knew Holm well enough to be sure that would continue…until the last squad to board was covering the second to last. “That would put them on the ground in about 35 minutes, captain.”
“I want all defenses manned until the last wave embarks.” The orders were redundant…Holm had given several versions of the same command already. He turned to look back at his aide. “And God himself won’t be able to help the first sentry I find who lets his guard down.”
“Yes sir.” Masur was beginning to feel unsettled himself. He couldn’t understand at first why Holm was so edgy, but now it was starting to get to him, and he began to have his own doubts. He was beginning to question the suddenness of the peace…and to wonder why their isolated force was the last to embark. “I will make sure all defensive protocols are rigidly observed.”
Holm walked slowly across the flat, sandy area just outside the HQ tent, staring out across the open plain. It was an ugly piece of ground, he thought, flat and covered with bilious yellow sand. The water table was high and, with the constant moisture, the sand felt more like a viscous clay that clung to boots, armor, equipment. It’d be a bitch, he imagined, fighting in this shit without armor.
His people had fought hard for it, taking out the hidden strongpoints Rancik’s patrol had found…and a whole series of additional ones they hadn’t discovered. It was a sharp, nasty fight, one that cost Holm 33 dead and 40 wounded. He’d had no intention of staying here after the battle…indeed, he’d planned on moving forward as soon as the wounded were collected. Without the prepared fortifications the enemy had possessed, it was a wide open position…not very defensible at all. He’d been surprised the enemy had chosen the spot to make a stand. There was better ground along his line of advance both before and after the sandy plain. Those questions were still there, and they were feeding his unease. It just didn’t make sense. Elias Holm wasn’t afraid of the enemy, but he was damned scared of anything he didn’t understand.
At least it was good ground to bring down landers, he thought, trying to improve his mood but not drawing much comfort from the effort. It was all he could do, though. His doubts were irrelevant. Word of the armistice had come in just after the battle, and his orders were clear – cease hostilities and remain in position. He’d have preferred someplace a little more protected, but his requests to reposition had been denied. Orders were orders, and Elias Holm knew how to follow them, whether he agreed or not. Besides, the ground was ideal for an LZ. He had to acknowledge that much, at least.
“I want constant patrols on duty, lieutenant.” He didn’t have a choice about the position, but no one had said anything about not keeping an eye on the enemy. The battalion’s dispositions were his call. He was exactly where he’d been ordered to be, and if he decided to postpone the celebration and keep his people on their toes for a while longer, it was no one’s business but his and theirs. He suspected the Marines digging trenches were less than happy with their commander, but they didn’t get a vote.
“Yes, sir.” Masur was reading a feed on his helmet’s tactical display. “We have four squads out on patrol now, sir, and four fresh ones set to relieve them in an hour.” He paused then added, “And all other units are on alert, sir.”
“Very well, lieutenant.” Holm was still staring out across the ugly yellow sand to the low mountains five klicks to the south. “I want to know the instant the landers disembark from the…”
“Sir, we’ve lost contact with orbital command.” Masur interrupted, his voice thick with concern. The comlink connection was suddenly noisy, staticky. “It’s almost like…” He paused, staring at his tactical projection.
“Like what, lieutenant?” Holm’s tone was impatient, demanding. He raised his voice, compensating for the interference. “Lieutenant,” he repeated when he didn’t get a response.
Masur’s voice went cold, numb sounding. “Sorry, sir.” He hesitated for an instant, checking for the third time even though he knew what had happened. “It’s some sort of atmospheric jamming, sir. Not like before…it’s different this time.” He hesitated a few seconds before continuing, the alarm in his voice increasing substantially. “I’ve detected several nuclear explosions in the upper atmosphere.” Another pause, slightly longer this time. “Sir, they’ve blocked our fleetcom with enhanced E3 EMP.” He was yelling, trying to be heard over the growing noise on the com. “Someone deliberately cut our communications with the fleet.” A brief hesitation then: “And I don’t see how the landers are going to make it down through that, sir.” He stared at Holm. “I think we’re stuck down here.”
Holm’s eyes blazed as he glared back at Masur. He knew immediately. The peace had been a trick, some kind of ruse. The enemy was coming. And his people were stuck down here…cut off, alone. “All units, prepare to repel an attack.” His voice was sharp, definitive. “All personnel are to take immediate cover.” Maybe they’d cut their paranoid commander a break now, he thought. The trenches weren’t done yet, but they were a helluva lot better than nothing out on that flat open plain.
“Yes, sir.”
Holm realized his caution was right, but there was no satisfaction in being vindicated. His people were about to be in a world of hurt, and it was going to take all he had to pull them through. If that was even possible. His armored hands balled up into metallic fists, the frustration turning quickly to anger…then rage.
“I want all heavy weapons deployed imm…” Holm stopped when his comlink practically exploded in his ears, dozens of voices fighting through the maddening static. Every scout and sentry in the battalion was calling in at once. The reports were all the same. There were enemy troops approaching from all directions.
Chapter 11
AIS Stryker
Docked inside AS Belleau Wood
Mid-Level Orbit
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Eleven
Worthington stared down at the untouched tray. Two turkey sandwiches, some raw vegetables with dip, a small pack of almonds…whatever they’re up to, they aren’t trying to starve me, he thought. The lunch would certainly have passed muster with the fleet nutritionist, though he doubted anyone in the naval chain of command was a party to his imprisonment. Whatever this was, he thought grimly, it had the filthy stink of Alliance Intelligence all over it.
He wasn’t interested in food, however, no more than he’d been when he sent back breakfast…and dinner the evening before. His stomach was twisted into knots. It was anger certainly, but also concern. This abduction was going to have repercussions. There were going to be a lot of questions to answer. Alliance Intelligence didn’t have him locked away in some cell for no reason. Something was going on, and he’d have bet his last credit it was bad. Probably worse than anything he could guess.
He considered jumping the guard when he came for the tray, but he discarded the plan for the same reason he had that morning. There was a two-part security system in the detention area, designed just to prevent an escape of that sort. All he could achieve by breaking out of his cell was to be stuck in the anteroom beyond, without any means to open the external door. He longed for the days depicted in the historical novels he enjoyed reading, when all a prisoner had to do was jump a guard and grab a physical key. Unfortunately, the locks on Worthington’s prison were all electronic and centrally controlled…and hacking into a top tier security AI was well beyond his abilities. An abortive escape attempt would accomplish nothing except increasing the watchfulness of his jailors. That was the last thing he needed; their carelessness was his only hope of getting out in time to deal with whatever scheme was going on, miniscule chance that it was.
He was on a small ship; he knew that much. He’d been led aboard blindfolded, unable to ID the vessel itself. It couldn’t be more t
han a 200 tonner, or it wouldn’t fit inside Belleau Wood’s bay. There hadn’t been any outside vessels in the bay when his people had launched the invasion, but he’d been down on the surface for weeks now, and he had no idea what ships had docked with the big troop carrier since. He hadn’t felt any acceleration, or any movement at all since he’d been imprisoned, which meant his prison ship was still inside Belleau Wood. Hundreds of his Marines were just meters away. But he had no way to reach anyone. The frustration just kept building.
He wondered how Kell was faring. The two had been separated when they were brought aboard, and they were put in different cells. Worthington was a little worried about the aide. Kell was good at his job, the best he’d ever seen. Between his cantankerous personality and his unceasing demands, the faithful captain had taken everything he’d dished out and come back for more. Worthington respected that…and beyond that, he just liked the tenacious officer.
He knew how Alliance Intelligence operated. They wouldn’t hesitate to do away with an officer who got in their way, at least not for any moral or ethical reasons. Worthington himself was too high profile to simply disappear or to end up dead, shot by intelligence operatives. There would be too many questions, too much scrutiny. He was famous throughout the Alliance, a war hero of massive proportions. But a miscellaneous captain could easily be written off, a manufactured list of infractions slipped into his record along with the tragic report that he’d resisted arrest and been killed in a firefight with agents. Kell was probably worth more to Dutton alive, as a tool to gain Worthington’s cooperation, but he was still worried.
He glanced down at the tray, considering taking one of the sandwiches. He’d refused to give them the satisfaction of eating anything they sent him, but now he started to wonder if he should keep his strength up. If he did manage to get out of the cell, he didn’t know what he’d have to do. He had to be ready for anything, including fighting his way out. He was just reaching down to grab the top sandwich when he heard it…a sound he’d know anywhere. Marine assault rifles firing.
