by Jay Allan
“Four minutes to projected landing.” Hector released the lock on the blast shield, allowing Cain a view of the outside. He could see the sky and a bit of the landscape below. It looked like a nice day on any Earthlike world. There was a large sea directly to planetary north…and, 40 klicks to the west, a series of small mountains, where the fleet’s scanning indicated the main military installations were located. That’s where Cain and his people were going…right over anything that tried to stop them.
Captain Jake Carlson crawled behind the embankment, making sure to keep down. The fire was thick, and he knew if he showed any of himself, the First Imperium bots would be sure to blast it off. He still felt a little weak, but the servo-mechanicals in his armor had adapted, feeding in more power to replace the strength his body still hadn’t recovered.
“Colonel Brown, Captain Carlson here.” Carlson had been one of the first heroes of the war, a retired Marine sergeant who’d been serving as a part-time three-striper in the Adelaide militia when the First Imperium struck. Caught behind enemy lines, he was the first one to discover they were dealing with a robotic foe…or at least one that employed machine warriors. Carlson had been given up for dead, but he’d managed to find his way back to friendly lines, only to spend the next few years trapped in the planet’s abandoned mines with the rest of the survivors. The hastily converted shelters were ill-prepared and poorly-supplied, conditions which grew steadily worse as time went by.
By normal military standards, Carlson had no place being present in this assault force. Three years trapped on Adelaide, with inadequate rations and supplies, had weakened him enormously, and he faced a considerable rehab period before he’d be truly recovered and ready for duty. But after 3 years of hiding underground while the rest of the Corps – and the other human forces – fought a grueling battle against a nearly invincible enemy, Carlson knew he had to get back in the line as soon as possible.
It turned out Cooper Brown felt the same way, and the two of them spoke to their doctors, liaison personnel, superior officers…at least half a dozen. They all said the same thing…no chance. Then Cooper Brown went right to the top; he asked General Cain. The commander of the ground forces promoted Brown and Carlson immediately, and he assigned them both to his front line strike force. The grim Marine general knew all about personal demons, and he wouldn’t stand in the way of two veterans who knew what they needed, whether medical had cleared them or not.
That business settled, he sat with Brown, and they talked about Adelaide. Cooper told Cain things he hadn’t spoken of to anyone, not even Jacobs. Not even Carlson. Cain just sat and listened mostly, and when Brown was through he whispered a few words and told him understood completely. Afterward, Brown shared Cain’s comments with Carlson. “The pain doesn’t go away.” Cain had said. “They lie to you when they say that it does…but you do learn how to deal with it. Eventually you even start to make friends with the ghosts.”
Brown’s voice rattled loudly in his helmet, shaking him out of his daydreams. “Jake, what’s up? What’s your status?” Cooper Brown had been Adelaide’s other hero, the commander of the militia, who’d used a variety of harsh techniques to keep the planet’s refugees hidden and alive for almost three years before relief finally arrived. He’d been forced to do things he knew he’d never forget, or forgive himself for.
Brown was the only reason Jacobs’ relief force had found anything but a planet of ghosts, but his reward had been the hatred of most of the planet’s population, who cursed him as a tyrant. Brown knew there was nothing left for him on Adelaide, so he and Carlson left with Jacobs’ fleet to go back to the Marines. Now Erik Cain had welcomed them both into the ranks. Back home.
“We’re pinned down, sir.” Carlson’s company was up in the lead, scouting the way forward toward the enemy base. Things had been quiet in the two days since the strike force had hit ground…until about twenty minutes earlier, when all hell broke loose. “We haven’t spotted anything, sir, but they must have multiple egress points around here. I tried to push around the flanks, but they’ve got us bracketed on three sides.” Carlson reached back to scratch his neck, but all he managed was to hit himself with an armored fist. It had been years since he’d worn Marine armor. It still felt like home in some ways, but he had some adjustment ahead before he’d get used to it again. “Only regular bots so far, sir. No Reapers. Not yet, at least.” That was a good thing, because Carlson’s force was light on the kinds of weapons he needed to take out the heavier enemy units.
“OK, you hold there.” He hesitated, his normally sharp decisiveness momentarily failing him. “I’ll get some reserves up and relieve the pressure on your flank.” Brown’s voice was a little edgy…firm, but also showing a hint of doubt that would never have been there before. The last few years on Adelaide, what it had cost him to hold the colony together and keep it hidden from the enemy…it had changed the formerly unflappable Marine officer. He’d retired to the once sleepy planet to enjoy some peace and quiet; instead he ended up dead center in a nightmare that, for a long time, looked like it would never end.
Cooper Brown had put his Marine armor back on, but he hadn’t been able to recapture his old self. Not yet, at least. His hands shook, sometimes uncontrollably, though he’d managed to hide it so far. He had his AI keep the inside of his armor at 17 degrees, but his body was still slick with sweat. Brown wasn’t afraid for himself, but the stress of having men and women in battle, their fates in his hands, was bearing down on him in a way it never had before. Every man has his breaking point; Brown knew that. Now he wondered if he had reached his.
“Yes, sir. We’ll hold on.”
“Brown out.”
Carlson didn’t like how Cooper Brown sounded. He’d served with Brown through all the fighting on Adelaide. He’d never seen a better man…or Marine. Carlson had been there too, in the shelters alongside Brown the entire time. He couldn’t imagine anyone as tough as Cooper Brown unraveling.
But Carlson had only dealt with the personal deprivation; the burdens of every decision hadn’t been on his shoulders. He hadn’t been the one who had to apportion the dwindling supplies. He hadn’t been forced to refuse starving people more rations, or turn away mothers looking for medicines for their children. It wasn’t Jake Carlson who’d been compelled to order civilians dragged from the stinking shelters and shot because they were preying on the others…mostly because they’d been driven half-mad with hunger and fear. He realized he couldn’t possibly understand what Cooper Brown had been through, or what effect it might have had on him.
He frowned. After all Brown had done, his reward was, for the most part, anger, hatred. The people vented the rage from their suffering at Brown. When the relief force arrived, they called for a trial, for Brown to be held accountable for his actions…for his crimes. Carlson had been infuriated by it all, disgusted. He knew the people of Adelaide had been driven beyond reasoning by their ordeal, that they’d turned on Brown – and each other – when they couldn’t take the suffering anymore. But that didn’t excuse the behavior. At least not to him. Cooper Brown had given everything he had to save the people of Adelaide…even his soul, Carlson thought sadly. Maybe he’d wasted it…maybe none of them deserved the sacrifice.
But he didn’t care. He was back in the Corps now, and Brown was too. Carlson knew one thing - he was damned sure going to stay this time. He would face his enemies, and he might die on one of his battlefields, but he’d do it shoulder to shoulder with his brothers and sisters. He prayed to God his Marine brethren never turned on each other the way the civilians on Adelaide had…or at least that he died in battle long before he had to see that black day.
“Alright, let’s stay focused.” He was addressing the entire company. “The colonel’s bringing up reserves. In the meantime keep your shit together and take these bastards down.” He glanced at his tactical display, checking on his unit positions. “Heavy weapons teams, we need max effect from you guys. Make sure you’ve got your best
fields of fire.” He paused, running his eyes across the display. “That means you, Second Platoon. Get those SAWs 200 meters southwest. You’ve got high ground over there and an expanded field of fire. Move it!”
Alright, Colonel Brown, he thought, we’ll hold out. He was still studying his display, picking out fallback positions in case he needed them. “But you hold yourself together, Cooper.” It was just a whisper, meant for no ears but his own.
“General Cain, we have a major enemy counter-attack on the left.” Isaac Merrick was walking toward Cain, wobbling a little as he did. Merrick had been an army officer, and he’d spent most of his career commanding Earthbound forces. But he’d served the Corps well, battling alongside them in the bloody fighting on Sandoval, and by unanimous agreement of Generals Holm, Cain, and Gilson, the Corps recognized his commission, and he formally became a Marine.
It was one thing to accept a friend and a worthy comrade into the Corps, quite another for him to function despite the fact that he lacked the years of specific training all Marines went through. Most Marines wore their armor like a second skin, but Merrick faced a long and difficult adjustment period before he was as lithe and agile in his fighting suit as the rest of his new comrades.
Cain liked Merrick, and he greatly respected his tactical ability. But he knew the ex-army man wasn’t ready to be up on the line yet, not until he’d had much more time to master the tools of his new service. So he named him his chief of staff, allowing him to tap the full range of Merrick’s tactical skill while keeping him at HQ, where he was less likely to trip into a ditch on the battle line and get himself killed.
Cain had been giving two aides emphatic instructions, waving his arms as he did. The three of them stood over a large ‘pad displaying a section of the battlefield, but none of them was looking down. Cain stopped talking and held up his hand to his companions when he got Merrick’s communication. He waved the aides off and turned to face the new arrival. He frowned a little, though his helmet hid the expression. He was just Erik to Isaac Merrick most of the time, but in the field, the ex-army man insisted on formality. Cain knew Merrick was right, but he’d never been a stickler for military formality, and the older he got, the less use he had for any of it. He trusted Merrick and knew the new Marine would obey his orders…so he didn’t think it meant squat what they called each other.
“How bad?”
Merrick walked the rest of the way toward Cain, stopping about two meters away. “It’s heavy, but manageable. For now.”
“For now?” Cain’s tone sharpened. He liked subordinates to tell him everything upfront. He hated turning what should be a quick report into a protracted conversation.”
Merrick hesitated. “It’s nothing really, sir.” He paused again, not sure he should elaborate. “Just a feeling. My gut says they’re going to hit us hard…and soon.” He shifted his weight, clumsily stumbling in his armor as he did. “I don’t have any data to back it up. It’s just…” He stared right at Cain. “…I guess it’s what I would do, sir.”
“I wouldn’t call that nothing. It’s damned good thinking.” Cain smiled. “It’s what I’d do too, Isaac.”
“You’ve got the first wave of McDaniel’s people down. Should we move them up…strengthen the line?”
Cain sighed. “We haven’t seen a single Reaper since we landed, Isaac. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Yes, but I just figured maybe they’d lost them all in the Line battles.” Suddenly Merrick felt foolish and naïve. They’d destroyed a lot of Reapers on Sandoval, but that was no basis to assume there were none left to face here. The enemy had never before kept them all hidden and used them for a truly massed attack, but, of course, Cain had done precisely that to them, something these forces would know about. The First Imperium’s tactics were weak and unimaginative, but there was nothing wrong with their ability to learn from human strategies. Again and again, human commanders had seen the enemy reuse their own tactics…and sometimes they’d been fooled by it.
But Erik Cain had no intention of being surprised. “I’m not releasing so much as a platoon from McDaniel’s force until those bastards show us some Reapers.” McDaniels commanded Cain’s answer to the heavy enemy units; all her people were equipped with the four meter tall Obliterator suits. Armed to the teeth, an Obliterator still wasn’t a one on one match for a Reaper – First Imperium technology was too advanced for that. But they were the closest thing Cain had to a counter for the enemy’s heavy forces. At least the Obliterators carried weapons heavy enough to damage a Reaper…normal powered infantry had a tough time bringing the enemy giants down. “That’s what this pressure is…they’re trying to get me to commit the Obliterators. It’s what I’d do to them.” Cain gritted his teeth. “But it’s not going to work.”
“Erik…” Merrick’s voice had gotten softer, and he’d fallen back to calling Cain by his first name.
“Yes, Isaac.” Cain could tell something was wrong. “What is it?”
“It’s Colonel Brown. And Captain Carlson.” Merrick had spent considerable time with the two refugees from Adelaide, and he’d come to like and respect them both. As had Cain. “Colonel Brown’s force is dead center in the enemy offensive. They couldn’t be in a worse spot.”
Cain let out a deep breath. Shit, he thought…it figures. He knew Brown and Carlson had needed to see his confidence in them, so he’d put them right into the line. But facing off against a massive First Imperium assault wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Merrick was standing quietly, clearly expecting him to do something, send some kind of relief. But Cain simply sighed again and said, “Brown and Carlson are Marines. They know their duty.”
Merrick was always surprised to see just how tough Cain could be in the field, how ice cold he was when he made his decisions. He didn’t argue…that would be insubordinate on the battlefield, and he knew he’d never change Cain’s mind anyway. “Yes, sir.”
Cain stood still, his mind drifting slowly across the field, silently reviewing his OB. He could almost hear Jax’s voice in his head, warning him, urging him to caution. “But let’s get one of Commander Farooq’s ortas on alert.” He paused, looking off over the rugged hills, in the general direction of the heaviest fighting. “Just in case.”
Chapter 17
Central Pavilion
Armstrong Spaceport
Armstrong - Gamma Pavonis III
“There are subtle differences on this Gremlin, Admiral Jacobs. It is not identical to the ships we have faced in other engagements.” That wouldn’t have been a particularly noteworthy statement if it had been made about an Alliance ship – or any human-built vessel. Ships were often slightly different from other members of their classes. Newer versions of weapons or other systems often replaced older ones on vessels coming out of the shipyards, and damaged ships frequently received replacement parts that differed from the original issue. But one of the noteworthy facts about First Imperium vessels was that, within their class, they were all identical. At least that had been the case until now.
“What does that mean?” Jacobs wasn’t following Sparks’ line of thinking, at least not completely. He’d been excited when Mondragon commed him and said he’d captured a First Imperium ship. Captured! Jacobs hadn’t even imagined that was possible. But something had malfunctioned on this particular vessel. It took one hit and apparently deactivated. It had been lying dead in space ever since.
“Every First Imperium vessel we have encountered prior to this one has had the exact same make up, equipment…everything. Exactly the same.” He paused, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t had much sleep, and the two system journey from Sigma 4 had been rough. The Torch transports were fast ships, but he wasn’t aware one had ever topped 50g acceleration before this last trip. Every inch of his body ached. “This one is different. Minor variations in dimensions and structural components. My preliminary analysis even suggests a slightly different density in the hull alloy.”
“So what can we determine from that? Is
it tactically useful?” Jacobs knew what Sparks was saying, but he sounded doubtful that any practical information could come from it.
“It is very early to say, admiral.” Sparks was clearly excited at the discovery. “At the very least, I would say this vessel, and possibly its companions that Captain Mondragon destroyed, were constructed at a different facility or time than the ones we’ve previously faced.”
“So how do we use that?”
Sparks hesitated. “Well, to start with, I can think of a few possibilities you won’t like. First off, it would appear likely that we have tapped into a new pool of enemy strength. There is no question in my mind that this ship was not part of the force structure we have faced so far in this war. It may be a detached scout unit of some type, or…”
“Or the vanguard of an entirely new fleet, one of unknown strength.” Jacobs’ voice was grim; now he understood, and he was reviewing the possibilities himself. “We could have been facing a regional force before. We have no idea how large the First Imperium is or how much strength it has.” Sparks was right. He didn’t like it one bit.
“Yes, everything you say is a definite possibility.” Sparks was glancing down at his ‘pad, reading the data as it came in. “There are others as well. Certainly there could be an age difference. It is possible that the units we have been facing until now were constructed before this new specimen. We clearly seem to be encroaching on the frontier of the enemy’s dominion. It wouldn’t be surprising to encounter vessels more technologically advanced than those we have faced to date. We often deploy older ships to garrison quiet sectors, massing our newest units in our main battlefleets. The enemy may do precisely the same thing. For all we know, we haven’t yet faced their real strength. The ships we have fought to date could be their older, obsolete vessels.” He shifted his weight and looked up at Jacobs. “Imagine if you were fighting us and you went from facing an old ship…say, Cambrai…and then you ended up fighting a Yorktown B. Now consider that we’ve been in space 150 years, and we have that kind of technology gap between active units. The First Imperium has been here for millennia.”
