Crimson Worlds Collection II

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, Lieutenant Mackey.” Vick was the best Mackey had, but it didn’t look like his group would be firing in time. The others were in worse shape.

  Warren’s entire corps was taking hard punishment. He couldn’t mass his forces anywhere…every time he did the enemy hit them with a nuclear strike. The enemy faced the same problem, but they were less sensitive to losses...and they didn’t have the same morale problems. Human troops, even Marines, can only sit under threat of nuclear bombardment for so long before their fighting spirit erodes. The two sides had faced each other for several days, but finally the First Imperium forces formed up in a deep series of extended lines and began throwing themselves at Warren’s defenses. Their tactics were crude, but their enormous firepower and total lack of fear made them hard to resist.

  Merrick’s tank corps had fought a titanic battle to the north and west, and the ferocity and the duration of that engagement had bought Warren time, delaying the enemy assault on his positions. Merrick’s people got the best of the fight, defeating the enemy and driving them back with heavy casualties. But the tank corps was worn down to a nub, barely 120 of its original 600 armored vehicles still fully-functional and in the field. They’d launched a major attack then fought a desperate defensive battle. They were exhausted and low on supplies and ammunition. The enemy set up a defensive perimeter at the edge of the steppe and focused their attention south, toward Warren’s II Corps.

  Merrick wanted to attack…to slice through to the enemy flank and relieve the pressure on Warren. But it just wasn’t possible, at least not until he’d been able to refit and rearm. Even then, he wasn’t sure his troops would obey an attack order. The terrestrial army forces had exceeded everyone’s expectation, but they were done…a spent force. The enemy hadn’t mastered the concept of morale yet…if they had, they’d have hit Merrick again before his troops had a chance to rest and dig in.

  The attacks against II Corps had been going on for three days now, wave after wave of enemy bots and Reapers throwing themselves against the network of interlocked bunkers and entrenchments along Warren’s line. Cain’s insistence on constructing massive fortifications was paying off, and II Corps was inflicting enormous casualties on the enemy forces. But the orbiting fleet just kept sending down reinforcements…it seemed there was no end to the battle robots on those ships, the deadly legions waiting to land and attack Cain’s dwindling army.

  Warren flipped the com to Mackey’s line. “Status report, lieutenant.” He was cheating the harried young officer…it had only been a minute and forty seconds.

  “HVMs deployed and commencing fire, General Warren.” Mackey’s voice was shaky, but he managed to get it out clearly. It was a bit of an exaggeration…if would be another half minute before anything fired…but it was close enough. What was the corps commander doing, he wondered, riding him, a lowly lieutenant? Warren was micromanaging like crazy, skipping multiple layers of the chain of command, directly supervising the troops anywhere he considered a critical spot.

  “Good job, lieutenant.” Warren was surprised. He made a note to himself. He was going to move this kid up…and give him his captain’s bars. If he lived through the next couple days. “I want maximum fire. The enemy’s moving against your section of line. Deploy your SAWs on the slope below the HVMs and get them engaged, ASAP. Make sure your fire is disciplined…missiles target the Reapers, autocannons the bots.” Warren was speaking rapidly, and he forced himself to slow down. He didn’t want to overload the young officer. “I’ve got ammo resupply en route, so don’t worry about reloads. Just keep up the intensity.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Warren out.” Kyle looked down at the tactical table. It was essentially a large ‘pad displaying a real time plot of the battle raging on the surface. The enemy just kept pounding, one line after another charging across the hilly ground. His green troops weren’t going to hold much longer; he needed to do something.

  He knew as well as Mackey did that he’d been micromanaging, involving himself in minutia far below a corps commander’s usual level. But he needed to make every strongpoint as tough as he could. He wished he could direct the positioning of every autocannon and deploy every squad. Cain was counting on him to hold out, and he wasn’t about to fail that trust.

  Warren put his hand to his head, adjusting the earpiece of his com. “Commander Jaffer?” Barir Jaffer commanded a tac-force of Janissaries attached to Warren’s corps. With 7th Brigade detached to support Merrick’s tanks, Jaffer’s troops were Warren’s largest veteran formation.

  “Yes, General Warren?” There was a slightly odd cadence to Jaffer’s speech, his AI translating his Arabic to English and transmitting. Warren’s system could just as easily done the translations, but these types of things flowed uphill, from lower ranks to higher.

  “I need you to deploy your troops.” Warren was staring at the tactical map as he spoke. “Use the tunnels and get your people along the enemy’s left flank, starting about a quarter klick out from our main position. If we don’t take some pressure off the line, we’re not going to have a line much longer.”

  “Yes, general.” Warren had originally expected resentment from the Caliphate officers, but Jaffer was nothing but respectful and polite. “I will have them in position directly, sir.”

  “Very well, commander. Advise me when you are in place.” Warren had thought of the Janissaries as enemies for so long, it felt surreal fighting alongside them. The Janissary officers had adjusted well to being under his command, at least on the surface. He wondered how well he would follow the orders of some Caliphate general. Then he wondered how Cain would manage in that situation, and he couldn’t help but allow himself an amused grin.

  “Colonel Linden, this is triage. We’ve got more wounded coming. ETA 15 minutes.” Lieutenant Ploor’s voice was hoarse, her mouth dry. She tried to clear her throat, but it didn’t do much good. She’d been commanding the main triage station for thirty hours, and she needed another stim. Actually, she needed a good night’s sleep, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. The wounded kept coming and, as long as they did, she was staying right where she was.

  Sarah started to sigh, but she caught herself and suppressed it. Her people were as worn down as she was. They didn’t need to see or hear it in her. “Very well, lieutenant.” Things were starting to get crowded in the hospital…and the aid stations were even worse. “Critical cases only. Stabilize the rest and put them in holding.” There was a long pause. “And Allison…” Sarah’s voice softened considerably. “…start taking out the hopeless cases. We need to focus on the ones we can save.”

  Sarah hated that part of her job. She was driven, and loath to admit she couldn’t save them all. But she was a veteran too, and she understood reality. At least there weren’t too many hopeless ones. For the most part, if they got to her hospital alive, her people could save them. At least until she started to run out of supplies and med units. Then, she knew from bitter experience, the definition of hopeless would begin to expand.

  Merrick’s wounded were still pouring in days after the fighting in the north had exhausted itself. Most of them were pretty bad, and even worse for the fact that many had lain for several days, wounded inside their crippled tanks. Armor crews were usually wounded superficially, or they were critically injured. The light wounds were treated in the field at the aid stations. The ones that got to Sarah were usually burned beyond recognition or torn to shreds by heavy weapons fire. They didn’t have the trauma control systems the powered infantry did, so their condition tended to deteriorate as they lay waiting for transit to the hospital.

  The wounded were mostly green troops, fighting their first battles on Sandoval. She could tell the difference as they came in. They were terrified, some of them panicked and screaming as they lay on the stretchers waiting. Her team was struggling to keep them calm and reassure them. The veteran Marines in her other battles had been more stoic. Experienced fighters, they knew if they were in r
eal trouble or not, and most of them lay quietly until the surgeons treated them. They were scared too, of course, and in pain, but the veterans knew the Corps’ medical service was the best anywhere, and they trusted Sarah and her crew to pull them through.

  There were veterans in 1st Army too, she knew that. But Erik was keeping most of them in reserve. Other commanders would have committed them by now, fed them into the line to stiffen the raw troops. But Sarah knew Erik wouldn’t…not until he was ready. He’d keep sacrificing the rookies, letting the enemy throw themselves at his prepared positions. He had a plan for the elite forces. She didn’t know what it was, but she was sure he had one, and she knew he would follow it relentlessly, no matter how many casualties flowed into her hospital.

  She loved Erik, but for all their years together, she knew she didn’t understand him completely. There was always a part of him that remained an enigma. An outsider could judge him a cold-blooded monster, a relentless warmongering leader who didn’t care how much his men and women bled to win his glory. But that wasn’t him; he was nothing like that. No one who knew him would give that thought credence, least of all her. She’d shared his suffering, his nightmares. She’d held his sweatsoaked body in the middle of the night, when the ghosts tormented him and sleep wouldn’t come. She’d never known anyone who agonized more over the suffering of the troops than he did. Or cared less for the glory his battles accrued to his name.

  But on the field he was a different man. He would coolly, relentlessly do what he felt was necessary to win the fight. Nothing would deter him, not losses, not fear, not doubt. Victory was all that mattered, and he expected everyone under his command to show the same level of commitment. Most generals in his shoes on Sandoval would look to hold out, to defend as long as possible. But she knew better. She knew he wasn’t trying to hold out against the First Imperium forces…he was planning to destroy them. This was going to be a fight to the death. Only one side would leave Sandoval.

  That meant her people were going to be getting even busier. She took a breath and stepped back into her makeshift OR. She didn’t have any more time to waste on introspection. The wounded would keep coming; she was sure of that.

  Majdi Yusef peered around the jagged rock formation. His heavy tac-group was on the extreme right flank of the enemy advance. Half the men were still underground, climbing slowly to the surface through the small access portal. His orders were clear. Set up a firing position and hit the advancing First Imperium forces hard on the flank. His small force wasn’t enough to seriously hurt the enemy, but he knew there were groups like his deploying in multiple locations. The entire tac-force was going in. In another few minutes, the First Imperium would meet the Janissaries once again, and Yusef was determined that his team would do their part. They had not been with the forces under Commander Farooq on Farpoint, but those brothers had covered themselves in glory, and Yusef was anxious to follow down that honorable path.

  “Pashia, lead your team to the top of that far ridge…coordinates 357x96…and deploy your weapons.” Caliphate support weapons tended to be light, with high rates of fire. They were very effective against the Alliance forces and their other traditional enemies, but fighting the First Imperium required heavy, harder-hitting ordnance. Yusef’s men had been reequipped with the Alliance’s new HVMs and Martian Confederation heavy SAWs. The foreign weapons were a little unfamiliar, but his troops were veterans, and he was sure they could adapt. Using Alliance-manufactured equipment felt a little strange. His men had been on the receiving end of those weapons far too often.

  The Janissary Corps was named for the ancient slave soldiers of the Ottoman Empire, the finest infantry of their day. The modern Janissaries weren’t slaves, at least not technically. But they did commit their lives to the force, beginning in childhood. It was a great honor for a peasant family to have a son accepted into the ranks of the Janissaries. Boys of 5 and 6 years were rigorously tested each year, with only the very best accepted into the training program…and a lifetime of soldiering.

  Yusef directed his troops as they emerged from the tunnel. They had moderate cover just behind a crooked ridge, and he intended to make the best of it. The enemy forces were already reacting, detaching units to form a firing line facing his position. “Pashia, commence fire as soon as possible. We have enemy forces moving in our direction. Maintain maximum cover.” His people were going to be under fire any second.

  His unit was supporting the Marines, trying to take pressure off the Alliance II Corps that was defending the main line. Yusef had hated the Alliance Marines for as long as he had conscious memory. They had killed many of his friends and comrades, and he had fought them on countless worlds. He’d been uncomfortable when he first arrived on Sandoval, but it had been easier than he’d expected to battle alongside the Marines. They’d been enemies, yes, but there had always been respect between them. The Janissaries considered themselves superior to every other formation fielded by the Powers…except the Marines. Even as enemies, they’d had to bestow a grudging acknowledgement of equality on the Alliance Marine Corps.

  Yusef looked over to his right. Good, he thought…Pashia’s troops are firing. “Officer Sarwar, hurry that deployment. We need your fire. Now.” He had three other teams rushing to their designated areas, but only Pashia’s and Sarwar’s men were in place.”

  “Yes, Commander Yusef.” Sarwar sounded nervous, definitely edgier than usual. Pashia had too. Both men were veterans who had served under Yusef before, and neither had ever faltered. It was unsettling to see them rattled before the fighting had even begun. He’d heard that the First Imperium forces exerted a strange morale effect, even on veteran troops, but he wasn’t sure he’d believed it. Not until he saw it himself. Not until now.

  “General Warren is requesting reinforcements, sir.” Carter turned to face Cain. “He says his situation is urgent.” The second he saw the expression on the face of 1st Army’s commander, he knew Warren was out of luck.

  “Tell General Warren he has to make do with what he has, captain.” Cain sat in his chair, his face a mask of granite.

  “Yes, sir.” Carter paused a second, as if some part of him expected Cain to change his mind. I Corps was still completely uncommitted. The elite units of the Alliance and Martian armed forces were deployed in their underground bunkers, out of action while II Corps was being slaughtered on the surface.

  Cain angled his head, targeting Carter with a stare that chilled the young officer to his core. “Now, captain.” He didn’t like it any better than Carter did. He’d known Kyle Warren since the Third Frontier War, and he hated leaving him on the line unsupported. But Cain had a plan, and he was going to follow it…whatever the cost.

  “Yes, sir.” Carter was flustered from Cain’s admonition. He couldn’t explain the effect the general had on him…on most of the troops on Sandoval. Erik Cain’s will was the one force on the planet that could counter the fear of the First Imperium. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t apologize…just do it.” Cain took a breath, thinking. “Major Sawyer, I need an update on the status of our air assets.”

  “We have 39 fighter-bombers capable of immediate flight, sir. Ten of those have minor damage and are still under repair. We have 36 pilots fit for duty.” Sawyer had served with Cain longer than Carter, and he seemed to know in advance what the army commander wanted.

  Cain frowned and let out a long breath. It wasn’t enough. His air had been decimated by the effectiveness of the enemy interdiction. It was no better than murder sending pilots out against these things, he thought. He needed to save some airpower for the final attack…and anything he sent out now was unlikely to return. Finally, he sighed again and looked over at Sawyer. “Commit ten fighters to ground support for II Corps, major.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sawyer turned and began speaking into his com.

  “Captain Carter…” Cain turned to face his junior aide again. “…advise General Warren that I’ve assigned ten fighter-bombers to his control. H
e may call them in as he sees fit.” He paused, only for a second or two. “And tell him that’s all he’s getting.”

  “Yes, general.” Carter spun around and put his hand to his earpiece, contacting Warren. He spoke softly, relaying Cain’s message.

  “And captain…get General Frasier up here now. He’s in charge until I get back.” Cain rose abruptly and walked toward the locker that held his combat armor. “I’m going to the surface again.”

  Every head in the command center snapped around. They knew better than to say anything, but the horror in their expressions was clear. It didn’t matter…Cain wasn’t paying attention to any of them.

  Sawyer turned back to his com. “Captain Cole, the general is going to the surface. Have his escort ready.” The veteran major knew very well Cain would go up alone…and he wasn’t about to allow that, not if he had any say. Cain paused briefly when he heard Sawyer on the com, but he just moved forward again and stepped onto the lift. Sawyer smiled. No one could accuse him of insubordination for doing his job.

  Chapter 18

  Officer’s Housing Block

  Armstrong Joint Services Medical Center

  Armstrong - Gamma Pavonis III

  Alex was on the couch, wearing only her underwear, sitting quietly and thinking. She was drunk, something very unlike her. Alex Linden had lived by her wits since she was an eleven year old orphan, trying to survive in some of the worst slums in the Alliance. She rarely allowed her judgment to become impaired. But the haziness was welcome now. Anything to make the pain go away.

  She was troubled, and she didn’t know what to do. And not knowing what to do was an alien concept for her, one that tore her apart. She’d pursued her goals ruthlessly, with a razor sharp focus, for 30 years. For all those years, through all the disgusting things she’d done to survive, all the people she’d killed to advance her position, she had believed her hated sister was long-dead. Then she discovered Sarah Linden was alive…not just alive, but prospering. The anger, the bitterness flooded over her, fueling her rage. But she’d been compelled to wait…wait until the time was right for her to take her revenge.