Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy Read online

  Refugees Collection

  Into the Darkness (Refugees I)

  Shadows of the Gods (Refugees II)

  Revenge of the Ancients (Refugees III)

  Jay Allan

  Copyright 2015 - 2016 Jay Allan Books Inc.

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents

  Blood on the Stars Series

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  Into the Darkness (Refugees I)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Shadows of the Gods (Refugees II)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Revenge of the Ancients (Refugees III)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Crimson Worlds Refugees Series

  Crimson Worlds Successors

  The Crimson Worlds Series

  Blood on the Stars Series

  (Available on Kindle Unlimited)

  Duel in the Dark (Blood on the Stars I)

  Call to Arms (Blood on the Stars II)

  Ruins of Empire (Blood on the Stars III)

  Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars IV) – Summer 2017

  Introducing the

  Flames of Rebellion Series

  (Published by Harper Voyager)

  Flames of Rebellion (Book I)

  Rebellion’s Fury (Book II) – Fall 2017

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  Into the Darkness

  (Refugees I)

  Chapter One

  Excerpt from Admiral Compton’s Final Communique to Augustus Garret:

  You have seen the scanning reports, as I have. You know there is no other option. I know you, perhaps better than anyone else, and I understand how this will affect you. It is a crushing burden, and yet that doesn’t matter. You have no choice, my old friend, and you know it as well as I. It is not just victory that hangs in the balance, not even the survival of the fleet. Nothing less than the continued existence of the human race rests upon your actions in the next few hours. If you allow this enemy force to get through the warp gate and into the X1 system, we will never stop them. They will destroy every planet in Occupied Space. When they are finished, there will be nothing but the unburied dead to mark that men had ever lived, silent graveyards where once prosperous worlds had been.

  You have been more than a friend to me, Augustus…more than a brother. We have laughed, supported each other, gone to war together. I had no idea, when I left home for the Naval Academy all those years ago, that I would find a friend like you. We had quite a run together, Admiral Garret. It’s been my great honor and pleasure to be at your side…to watch your back, as you have watched mine.

  Though I know it is pointless, I will say this anyway. Do not blame yourself. You do not have a choice in this. Do your duty, as you always have, and then step boldly into the future. I am asking you to do this, to save mankind. Mourn the lost, as we always have, but think of me—and all those who serve with me—no differently than the thousands who have died in our many battles. Drink a toast to me and remember friendship fondly, shed a tear if you must…but do not spend the rest of your life tormenting yourself. It is my final request of you.

  Go now. You will have to move ahead without me, my comrade, bear the burdens alone that we would have shared. I’m sorry I won’t be there to help you face the next battle. Because we both know there will be another. There always is. And I know you will be ready, that you will stand again in the breach and do what you must. As you have done all your life.

  There is one last thing I ask of you, Augustus. Look after Elizabeth for me. Try to ease her pain. I was going to ask you to tell her I love her, that I always have, but that would be selfish of me. I am gone to her, and I know I shall never see her again. I would have her forget me, move forward…to have a happy life, and not to wallow in misery over what can never be. It is my solace to imagine that happiness without me waits in her future.

  You are the best, most honorable man I’ve ever known, Augustus Garret. Goodbye, my friend.

  AS Midway

  Deep in System X2

  The Fleet: 242 ships, 48,371 crew

  “You are clear to land in Bay B, Admiral Hurley.” There was a strange sound to the launch bay coordinator’s voice, not fear exactly, but something cold, almost dead.

  “Acknowledged,” Hurley replied. She knew, of course, what was happening. She’d seen the enemy ships on her own scanners, hundreds of them, more than the entire massed fleets of humanity could hope to defeat. She also knew what would happen next, what had to happen. Admiral Garret would detonate the massive bomb General Cain and Dr. Hofstader had found—and if the CEL scientist was as brilliant as eve
ryone said, the warp gate leading back to X1, to human space, would be disrupted for several centuries, an impassible obstacle instead of an open pathway.

  It was an ideal way to end the war, cutting off the massive First Imperium forces from human space without a fight. But there was one problem. Midway—and the rest of Compton’s fleet, nearly half of humanity’s combined naval strength—was on the opposite side of the system, light hours from the Sigma 4 gate. There was no way they could get back, not before the First Imperium forces were able to transit. And Hurley knew that was something Admiral Garret simply could not allow. No matter what the cost.

  She understood the tone in the coordinator’s voice. Word had to be spreading through the fleet. They were facing almost certain death, and everyone had to accept that in his or her own way. She was confident the Alliance spacers, at least, would stay at their posts and go down fighting. She knew damned well she would. Her fighters had been savaged in the combat, but they weren’t done yet, not by a long shot. And as soon as they could refuel and rearm, she intended to lead them back into the fray.

  “Bring us in, Commander.” Hurley glanced over at her pilot. Commander Wilder had been under instructions from Admiral Garret to keep Hurley away from the worst of the fighting. Greta Hurley had no peers in the field of fighter-bomber tactics, and Garret knew she tended to put herself in the forefront of her squadrons. He’d been determined to keep his aggressive fighter commander from getting herself killed, and knowing how stubborn Hurley was, he’d figured a secret pact with her pilot seemed the likeliest way to achieve success. Wilder had made a noble effort, but in the end Hurley—and events—had prevailed, and Wilder had joined his commander in taking their fighter right into the maw of an enemy battleship—and delivering the killing blow to the behemoth.

  “Yes, Admiral,” the pilot replied. “Forty-five seconds to landing.”

  Hurley leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. She had about 240 fighters left, less than half of what she had led into battle just the day before. But it was still a potent force. They might not have any real hope of survival, but she silently vowed that her people would sell their lives dearly to the enemy.

  She looked through the forward cockpit, to the hulking form of Midway beyond. Compton’s flagship was one of the greatest machines of war ever constructed by man, two kilometers of sleek hull, bristling with weapons. Until the First Imperium invasion, mankind had considered itself strong and technologically advanced, impressed, as men so easily were, by its own achievements. But now they were fighting an enemy thousands of years ahead of them. Courage and innovation had bridged that gap, at least in the battles on the Line, allowing the outmatched humans not only to stem the enemy tide, but to drive the First Imperium fleets back. But those victories had only stirred the enemy to bring forth its full strength, and now humanity was faced with the real power of their enemy. Against the massive array now approaching, even a battlewagon like Midway seemed weak and small.

  The fighter moved steadily toward a large opening in Midway’s hull. Hurley could see tiny shapes moving around the bay, technicians clad in environmental suits and small tractors carrying parts and supplies toward the fighters sitting in their cradles. A landing bay during a battle was a busy place. It took a lot of support to keep her birds in space and fighting.

  She felt the deceleration as her ship slowed gradually. Landings could sometimes be a rough affair but not with a pilot like Commander Wilder at the controls. Hurley had been a great pilot herself, and a feared Ace who had racked up a still unmatched number of kills in the days before her advancing rank had, at least ostensibly, taken her out of the direct fighting. But she had to admit to herself, Wilder was even better than she had been. He worked the controls of the fighter like they were extensions of his own body. And now he dropped the craft onto the metal floor of the bay so softly, she could barely tell they had landed.

  “Your ship is the last one, Admiral,” the coordinator’s voice said. “We’re closing the bay doors, so if you wait a minute, we’ll have the deck pressurized.”

  “Understood, Commander.” She reached around and unhooked her harness, turning toward Wilder as she did. “That was a hell of a landing, Commander.” She paused for an instant then added, “In fact, the entire battle was an example of magnificent piloting.” Hurley lived and breathed fighter-bomber tactics, and her praise was highly sought after among her pilots and crews.

  “Thank you, Admiral.” She could hear the satisfaction in his voice at her words, but also a dark undercurrent. He had clearly come to the same grim conclusion she had. They were dead men and women, all of them. It was just a question of time—and how much damage they could inflict before they were wiped out.

  She walked across the cramped cabin of the fighter bomber, heading toward the hatch as the other three crew members unhooked themselves and followed. She knelt down and waited.

  “Landing bay pressurized,” came the announcement a few seconds later. Hurley punched at the keys next to the small door, and the hatch slid open. She put her leg down, and her foot found the small ladder almost immediately. She climbed down to the deck and turned around, her eyes looking for the crew chief.

  “Chief,” she said as she spotted him, “I want these birds turned around in record time…and I do mean fucking record time, you understand me?” Hurley had a fearsome reputation among the maintenance crews. Most of them felt she asked for the impossible, yet they somehow managed to do what she commanded anyway. And it was hard to argue with a fighting admiral with Hurley’s chops—especially when she’d just come back with barely half the birds she’d launched with a few hours before.

  “The crews are ready, Admiral.” Sam McGraw was old-school navy all the way, a chief petty officer who drove his staff relentlessly and who could stand up to any officer, even to a superior as terrifying as Greta Hurley. “They’re already at work on the birds that landed ahead of you.” He was waving his arm as he spoke, gesturing to a work party to get started on the admiral’s ship. It was mildly inappropriate. Technically, he should have been at attention while addressing the admiral. But Hurley didn’t give a shit about foolishness like that. No one had ever turned her fighters around like McGraw, and she wasn’t about to give him shit for pushing his crews—or worrying about his job instead of kissing her three-star ass.

  “Very well, Chief. I’ll leave you to it.” She saw a sudden difference in McGraw’s expression, shock, tension. Then the non-com snapped to attention. She knew the veteran petty officer well enough to understand only one person on Midway could generate that kind of reaction from him.

  “Well done out there, Greta.”

  She turned abruptly and snapped to attention herself. “Thank you, Admiral Compton.” Greta Hurley was a force of nature, but Admiral Terrance Compton was like a god striding among mortals. Compton had nearly fifty years of service, having fought in both the Second and Third Frontier Wars. He’d been a hero of the rebellions, steadfastly refusing orders to bombard civilian targets, and somehow maintaining control of the fleet through the entire crisis. His victories were too numerous to be easily counted. He was the other half of the legend of Augustus Garret, the only naval officer who could match his lifelong friend’s prowess.

  “I take it you understand the current situation, Admiral?” Compton’s voice was serious, but it lacked the grim resignation she’d heard in everyone else’s.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “Well, I’ve got a plan, Greta, and I need your help to pull it off.”

  “Of course, sir. Whatever you need, my people will see it done.” She felt the power of Compton’s legend, of his extraordinary charisma. She didn’t expect to live more than a few more hours, but there was adrenalin flowing, excitement about fighting again for this man. She could face death in battle, as long as she didn’t have to look into Compton’s eyes knowing she had failed him. Thoughts of doom and imminent death faded away, replaced by a surge of determination.

  “O
ur position isn’t hopeless, Greta, no matter what everyone in the fleet seems to think. And this isn’t a suicide mission for your people either, so you remember that. It’s dangerous as hell, but I expect most of you to come back. In fact, I demand it.” Compton’s voice was firm, resolute.

  “Yes, sir.” She had a pretty good idea of the tactical situation, and she didn’t see a way out. But she found some part of herself believing him, even as the rational side of her mind clung to its hopelessness.

  She looked at the man standing in front of her. He was rock solid, not the slightest doubt or weakness apparent. Whatever Terrance Compton, the man, believed, the undefeated fleet admiral was firmly in control right now. She had a significant reputation herself, but now she drew strength from the man standing in front of her, feeding off his iron will.

  Perhaps it’s part of the legend, she thought. The man is simply incapable of giving up.

  * * *

  “Admiral, we’re picking up massive energy readings from the X1 warp gate. Really off the charts…I can’t even get a steady fix.” Max Harmon was Compton’s tactical officer. Indeed, he’d also served Garret in the same capacity when Compton had been wounded, and he had the singular distinction of being declared the best tactical officer in the fleet by both of mankind’s legendary naval commanders.

  Compton looked over at Harmon, but he didn’t reply. There was no reason. They both knew what had happened. Garret had detonated the device. If Dr. Hofstader’s calculations were correct—and Compton had no doubt they were—the X1 warp gate was now scrambled by a massive amount of captive energy that would only very slowly leak out. It would be centuries before a ship could transit to Sigma 4—and the human domains beyond. And if it didn’t work, if Hofstader was wrong, every human being will be dead in two years, he thought.

  “Alright, Max,” he said, changing the subject. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the fact that they were now officially cut off from home. “Transmit navigational instructions to the fleet.” Compton sat in the command chair on Midway’s flag bridge, as he had throughout the war. “We’re going to take it hard on the way in, but that can’t be helped. Ships are authorized to defend themselves the best they can and engage any enemy within range, but nothing is more important than following the nav plan exactly. We’re not going to be able to help any ship that falls out of the formation. This is timed to the second as it is.”