Crimson Worlds Collection III Read online

  “I’ve taken steps to address the matter, sir.” He was hoping Cain would let him handle things. He didn’t think Erik would order the recalcitrant civilians shot or anything quite so drastic, but he figured there was a good chance he’d have them dragged out of their homes at gunpoint. Merrick thought he could manage a less disruptive solution, while still accomplishing the goal. “I’ll see it done, Erik. You have my word.”

  Cain started walking again. His face wore the usual scowl, but there was a hint of a smile there too. He knew exactly what Merrick was thinking. He didn’t have time for such nonsense, but he trusted his chief of staff, and if Merrick was willing to accept the extra effort to go easier on the population, so be it.

  “Very well, General Merrick.” The amusement in his voice was mostly hidden, but Merrick caught it anyway. “I will leave the matter to you. But we are going to begin prepping these buildings for the battle in three days, so that’s how long you’ve got.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is the status of the recruit battalions?” Cain had ordered all the Marine trainees at Camp Basilone organized for active service. There were three battalions formed from trainees who had received their fighting suits and three unarmored ones made up of earlier stage recruits. Teller had already cherry-picked the recent grads and some of the senior classes, and now Cain was taking just about every boot the Corps still had in training. The well had now been sucked bone dry. It would be years before fresh newbs could be recruited and trained enough to take the field with anything like the skillset expected of a Marine. What Cain had was what he had…for the battle on Armstrong and whatever came next.

  He shut down the Academy as well, diverting some of the cadets into command positions for the new battalions and the rest into a group of special action teams. Cain had organized the original teams during the Third Frontier War, and they’d proven their worth in the fighting on Carson’s World. Despite their successes, they suffered heavy losses and didn’t survive the post-war demobilizations. Now Cain was restarting the program. This time every member was a veteran non-com who’d been selected for officer training. In an army with a significant number of inexperienced personnel, the teams would be a razor’s edge of hardcore vets he could use wherever he needed it.

  “The new teams are ready to go.” Merrick had all the information ready. “The powered battalions are 72 hours from full readiness.” He turned and looked at Cain. “We had to arm most of them from our stocks. They had mostly training weapons at Basilone.”

  Cain frowned. That wasn’t good news. His supplies were low enough already, without the added drain. “Well, I guess there’s no way around that. I thought they would be better supplied.” Cain made a face, remembering how the Corps had stripped every depot to mount the invasion of First Imperium space. “Though I probably shouldn’t have.”

  “We’re in OK shape on supplies, even after arming the recruits.” Merrick was trying to sound a little more optimistic than he felt. “Garret cleaned out the ships and gave us everything he could find. I don’t think there’s so much as a pistol or spare clip left on the fleet.” He paused, sighing softly. “If it’s a long fight, we’re going to have a logistics problem, but we’ll be good for a while. Supply is probably not going to be the first crisis we deal with.”

  Cain nodded. “I suppose not.” He walked quietly for a few seconds. “How about McDaniels’ people? How are they shaking out?”

  General Erin McDaniels commanded the Obliterator corps. The massive fighting suits had been developed as an answer to the First Imperium’s Reapers, and now they were Cain’s one big advantage. From the limited intel he had, Cain expected the invaders to be close to a match for his Marines. But he’d heard nothing to suggest they had anything remotely like the Obliterators.

  “They’re all settled in.” Merrick’s voice was tentative.

  Cain had ordered the Obliterators deployed in hidden locations. They were the one thing he had for which the enemy might not have a counter, and he was going to keep that power dry…and hidden…for as long as possible.

  “But?”

  “Captain Slavin’s people have been working around the clock, Erik, but we’ve only got 378 units ready for action as of this morning.” Cain had attacked Sigma 4 with 3,000 Obliterators. Losses had been heavy, but he’d figured at least a thousand of the units could be put in the field immediately. Less than 400 was a hugely disappointing number. The 4-meter tall suits were a new weapon system that had been rushed into service during the war, and maintenance was proving to be a considerable problem. The lack of spare parts was truly hamstringing the effort to get damaged and malfunctioning suits back into action. Cain’s force had over 1,000 salvageable Obliterators, possibly even 1,200-1,300, but the process of getting them ready for action was slow and laborious.

  Cain sighed. “I knew we were going to have problems, but that’s below even my low range estimate.” He stopped and turned to face Merrick. “Isaac, I know they’re working like crazy, but they’ve got to do better than that. I need you to ride them harder.”

  Merrick nodded. “I understand.” He wasn’t sure what he could do, but he’d try.

  Cain started walking again. They had a lot more prep work to do. He was going to make sure that Armstrong was as heavily defended as humanly possible, even if he had to work his people to death doing it.

  “How about the minefields…” He pointed off toward the east as he kept walking.

  “General Cain, sir?” Captain Claren’s head was poking through the partially open hatch. The room was dark, save for a shaft of light shining in from the hallway.

  Cain turned his head and looked toward the door, squinting. He hadn’t been asleep, but his eyes weren’t adjusted to the light yet. He didn’t get much rest during campaigns, but he’d long ago realized that it was easier to pretend to sleep from time to time than to have his staff nagging him 24/7 about it. Plus, he enjoyed the solitude. Even if he wasn’t actually sleeping, he found it restful. The ghosts were there, of course, as always, but they didn’t really torment him anymore. Somewhere along the line, he’d made a peace of sorts with them. Now they were just there, with him all the time, as if simply waiting patiently for him to join them.

  “What is it, captain?” He spoke slowly, softly. He could see how nervously his aide peered into the room. Why, he thought, do I scare them all so?

  “General, I’m very sorry to bother you, but we have multiple contacts at the warp gate. Vessels inbound…warships and transports.” He paused. “We do not have a breakdown yet.”

  Cain sat up, his hand behind his head, rubbing his neck. “Place all forces on full alert.” He threw the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “And get me Commander Gimble at Orbital Command.”

  “I took the liberty of contacting the commander, sir.” Claren motioned toward the com unit on the table next to the bed. “He’s waiting on your line, general.”

  Cain nodded approvingly. He was proud of his people. He knew he didn’t always appreciate them enough or tell them as often as he should, but he doubted there had ever been a better military organization anywhere. Erik Cain didn’t think most people were worth a damn, but knew he had more than his share of outstanding ones.

  “Very well, captain.” He glanced at the com unit. “Assemble the staff for a tactical briefing in 20 minutes.” He glanced back at Claren. “And tell the control room I’m going to want those force breakdowns by then.” His tone almost dared the staff to offer excuses instead of the reports he wanted.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Well, Cain thought, it looks like Augustus called it. Many of the Marines…and almost all the civilians…had doubted any attack was coming at all. But that question, at least, seemed to be answered.

  “And captain…have them send up a couple sandwiches. If we’re going to fight another mysterious enemy, I might as well do it on a full stomach.”

  “Yes, General Cain.” Claren saluted and ducked back into
the hall, the hatch sliding shut behind him.

  “Lights.” Cain barked the command to the room AI, and the track along the ceiling activated. He turned toward the table, extending his hand and slapping the control on the com unit.

  “Commander Gimble? It looks like we’ve got some company on the way.”

  Gimble stared at the tactical screen. He commanded the most powerful orbital defense force of any human colony, but without fleet support, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. With no warships of his own, all of his forces were static…and that ultimately meant they were easy targets.

  “Enemy approaching on projected vector, Commander Gimble.” Taylor Jones was fresh out of the Academy, but Gimble had been impressed with the young officer’s poise and ability. He was proud of all of his people. The battle fleets usually got the best recruits, and Orbital Command typically had to settle for second rate officers and crew who didn’t quite make the cut. But Gimble was an exception, a gifted officer who was prone to an exaggerated set of side effects from warp gate insertions. A lot of people suffered dizziness and nausea during transits, but Gimble got so sick he was incapacitated for hours. He’d tried to adapt, but fleet service just required too many transits, and he’d eventually given up, finding a home in Orbital Command. Admiral Garret had recognized his ability immediately and tapped him to command the defenses of the main military nexus at Armstrong. In turn, Gimble had assembled and trained a staff far superior to the average group of fortress jockeys.

  “Very well, ensign.” Gimble was staring at a pair of white spheres on the display, Armstrong’s two small moons. There was a chain of blue icons around each of them…missile fortresses Garret’s ships had towed from their original posts orbiting the planet. “Send updated enemy positioning data to the platforms behind the Twins. Direct laser pulse communication. Tell Lieutenants Long and Harris that we’re severing all comm. From this point on, they are to act on their own initiative.”

  The early colonists on Armstrong hadn’t been able to agree on names for the planet’s two satellites. They were called by various informal names for years, but eventually The Twins became the dominant designation for the two nearly identical moons. It was finally made official, almost 30 years after the initial colonization.

  It had been Cain’s idea to tow several fortresses from Armstrong orbit and position them behind the Twins. Garret endorsed the plan the second he heard it, and his ships did the job before pulling out of the system. Gimble was less sanguine about the whole thing and a little annoyed at the usurpation of his authority. It just took power away from his main defense. But as usual, Cain’s mind was focused on the cold, brutal mathematics of the situation. Gimble’s people were doomed anyway…a few might get to their escape pods and flee to the surface, but they had no chance to defeat the flotilla closing on the planet. But if the enemy was careless, those missile forts hiding behind the Twins might go unnoticed…and get a chance to fire at some transports. Any troops Cain’s people killed in orbit were that many less they had to face in the field. And Armstrong would be held or lost on the ground.

  “Place all stations on red alert, Ensign Jones.” Gimble leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He knew he probably only had another couple hours to live. He was scared, certainly, but something else too. Relaxed wasn’t the word, of course, but resigned, maybe? He wasn’t sure what to call it, but he knew what he had to do, and that was all that mattered…and in that realization there was peace of a sort.

  “Transmit warhead activation codes to all weapons.” He had just armed over 100 gigatons of nuclear weapons. “Instruct tactical AI to update missile firing solutions.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jones’ hand moved over the control board, executing Gimble’s commands. A few seconds later: “All warheads armed and ready, sir.”

  Gimble sighed as he stared at the display. His people had ID’d some of the units inbound. There were two capital ships, and one had been positively identified as Concord. That decisively answered one question. Whatever force was inbound, it was definitely related to the one that took Wolf 359. Concord had been under repair at the shipyards there after sustaining heavy damage during the Line battles. This was the first confirmation that at least some of the ships at Wolf 359 had been captured…and that meant, whoever this enemy was, they had gained considerable naval power. If it was one of the Superpowers, and they managed to get all the captured ships into service, Garret wasn’t going to have the superiority he was hoping for.

  “Firing solution complete, sir. I’m sending it to your console.” Jones’ voice was sharp and crisp. “Tactical AI recommends beginning firing sequence in one-seven minutes, sir.”

  Gimble had been considering holding fire, launching just before the enemy warheads were reaching his platforms. That would maximize his own targeting and inflict heavier damage on the incoming vessels, but he’d have to withhold most of his defensive fire while his own missiles were in the point defense zone. It would be a dangerously aggressive plan, but one that made a strange sort of sense. His defenses were going to be overwhelmed anyway, so why not take as many of the bastards down with him?

  “Lock in AI tactical plan.” He let out a long exhale. He knew his own instincts were right, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave his people defenseless…even when he knew those defenses wouldn’t be enough to make a difference. Cain would have done it, he thought to himself, not sure if he was ashamed or proud of differing with the commander-in-chief’s cold-blooded decisiveness.

  “Tactical plan locked in, sir.” Jones glanced at the chronometer. “Projected first wave launching in fourteen minutes…that’s 1-4 minutes.”

  Alright you bastards, Gimble thought, feeling the anger rising inside him…if you want to get to Armstrong you have to come through us first.

  Chapter 10

  Five Forks

  Western Continent

  Planet Tranquility

  Omicron 9 System

  Sam Thomas reached around and wiped the back of his neck with a small cloth. It was midsummer, and he’d been out in the fields since dawn. Thomas was over 80 years old, but with the rejuv treatments and his natural constitution, he looked like a fit man in his late-40s. He had a few old injuries that gave him some pain now and then, but that was from a lifetime ago. Despite a little chronic soreness, he still had almost limitless energy. He’d long been wealthy enough to passively manage his holdings, but he still spent every day in the fields, directing the work on 30,000 hectares of fertile farmland. He wasn’t the kind of man who could sit around the house all day. Inactivity would make him crazy inside of a week.

  He was on his way back from the north section, heading down the winding path that led to the house. This was his favorite spot on the farm, an idyllic stretch of grapevines and apple orchards, crisscrossed with small creeks and shallow ponds. He always imagined this was what rural New England had once looked like, centuries ago, before war and pollution had turned the pristine woods and mountains into the contaminated and garbage-strewn wastelands of his childhood.

  He’d sent his transport ahead, deciding to walk back the 8 klicks. It was just too nice out to sit cooped up in the ATV, breathing sanitized, climate-controlled atmosphere when a beautiful, unspoiled world offered fresh air. He might be a little late for dinner, but he didn’t care. They’d wait for him.

  The walk had been a pleasure, though he had to admit to himself he was getting a little tired. Age was wearing lightly on him, but he wasn’t immune to the passage of time. He knew one day he’d have to slow down, cut his workload. But today isn’t that day, he thought. Not yet.

  His body tensed as he came up over the last rise before the house, old senses tingling, flashing a warning. Something was going on. He wasn’t sure what, but things were…off. He couldn’t see anything amiss, but his instincts were almost never wrong. He slipped back below the hillside, turning and heading toward a series of outbuildings just south of the house.

  He moved
quickly and quietly, keeping himself hidden behind the hill. He knew every centimeter of the ground, and he swung around the end of a large storage shed and typed in an access code to open the side entry. He ducked inside and looked around, making sure he was alone. He stepped up to a large plasti-steel door on the far wall. There was a small display with a keypad on the wall right next to it. He walked up and punched in a series of numbers. The hatch slid open slowly, revealing a room with racks of neatly stacked weapons.

  Thomas slipped into the storeroom, grabbing a pistol and shoving it in his belt. Then he ran his hands down a rack and selected a heavy assault rifle. He took the weapon and a pouch with a dozen clips and slammed a cartridge into the magazine. He stepped back outside, looking around again as he tapped a code into the keypad to close the door.

  The approach to the house from the storage complex was mostly hidden, covered by a fold in the ground and the trees of a small orchard. He crept up close and peered cautiously through a window. There was a man at the kitchen table. He wasn’t close enough for Thomas to get a good look, but the old farmer knew right away it was no one who should be there. He moved slowly, carefully toward the back of the house, quietly entering the access code. The door opened quickly, and he burst inside, aiming his weapon at the unidentified visitor’s head as he did.