The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II Read online

  “Thank you, General.” The relief in Cranston’s voice was obvious. He hadn’t imagined any of Caravalla’s people had survived. “We had almost given up hope. Until we managed to restore this single com line, we were completely cut off from what was happening around us.” He tried to ignore the fact that eleven surviving ships meant that almost three-quarters of Caravalla’s people had been lost.

  “Several of Captain Caravalla’s people required medical care, which they are now receiving.” Another pause. “I must commend you on the bravery of your fighter crews, Major. I cannot express how crucial their repeated attack runs were to our ultimate victory.”

  “Captain Caravalla is an old school veteran, General. So he survived?”

  “Yes, Major. The Captain was among the wounded, but my medical team assures me he will live.”

  Cranston nodded. “Again, General, my thanks.”

  There was a brief silence, and then Tyler said, “I understand that much of this is best discussed later, in person rather than over open com channels, but do you have any idea where that fleet came from?”

  Cranston paused. The communication was fully encrypted…and to his knowledge no one had ever breached Eagle protocols. But he knew of Tyler’s reputation for paranoia, and he decided to humor it. “Yes, General, I believe we have encountered this enemy before…though I’m afraid we have extremely limited intelligence about them. And we had no idea they were capable of mounting an attack of this size.”

  Cranston wasn’t sure this enemy was the same that the Eagles had faced on Eris and Lysandria, but he wasn’t a strong believer in coincidence either, and there seemed to be few alternate theories.

  “Perhaps we can have a brief conference…if you can be spared for a short while.”

  Cranston looked around the control center. His first impulse was to politely decline. It just felt wrong to leave his post after the Nest had suffered such extensive damage. But Tyler was important…and the only reason every Eagle in the Nest wasn’t dead now.

  Besides, he thought, looking around at the cool competence surrounding him, they all know what to do. They don’t need me hanging over them.

  The Eagles were professionals, and throughout the Nest they had sprung into action, repair crews working through prioritized lists, other personnel dividing into teams to assist the technicians and engineers. The entire base was a beehive of focused activity…and Cranston knew his people could do without him for a few hours. What they couldn’t do without was Tyler’s protection, at least until General Cain returned with the fleet.

  “I’d be happy to join you, General Tyler,” he finally said, “but I’m afraid my only egress at present is an emergency tube leading to the surface. And I haven’t got a functioning shuttle or a bay to launch one from. I’m afraid you’ll have to send someone to get me.”

  “My pleasure, Major. Send the coordinates when you are ready, and I’ll have a shuttle there in thirty minutes.”

  “Very well, General.” He gestured toward Captain Anders. “Send the coordinates,” he said, momentarily holding his hand over the com unit.

  Anders nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “General Tyler, we’re sending the data now. I’ll go suit up, and I’ll be there in forty minutes. I’m looking forward to seeing you."

  And he was. The Black Eagles weren’t used to needing anyone’s help, and the entire organization had become infused with Darius Cain’s cynicism. They were as good as they were partially because they didn’t expect anyone else to come to their aid. So when someone did, they truly appreciated it…as a rare and admirable act.

  The Eagles and the Columbians had always had friendly relations, but now Tyler had put his own forces at risk, and Columbians had died in the battle, fighting bravely to save the Nest. Most people would appreciate such an act, but to the Eagles it went far deeper. It was a debt, a significant one. And the Black Eagles always paid their debts.

  Chapter 32

  Obelan Foothills

  Five Kilometers from Eldaron City

  Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “Colonel, take your first battalion now and set up a defensive line. “I’ll get over there and bring your second battalion right behind.” Erik Teller was standing in the middle of his command post snapping out orders. Kuragina’s entire regiment was fresh, but only one battalion was ready to move forward immediately. The other half of her unit had been dispersed to assist with the unloading of supplies. It would take twenty minutes to get them formed up for battle…and right now he didn’t have that time.

  His eyes darted up at the display inside his helmet. There were so many icons on the one side of the projection, it looked like a single pulsating light. His AI had been updating the scanner reports for him, providing strength estimates for the units now moving against his rear. He’d stopped listening when the numbers hit twenty thousand.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have my lead companies on the march in three minutes.” It was a precise figure, but that was typical for Cyn Kuragina. Her White Regiment had always been one of the three “line” units the Eagles fielded. The Black Regiment was the elite, the senior force right after the Teams. But since the fighting on Lysandria the year before, Teller had realized that Kuragina had forged her battalions into a force every bit as effective as Colonel Falstaff’s Blacks. It was as much random chance as anything that the White Regiment was uncommitted, but if he’d had to pick a force for a desperate holding action, it would have been the diminutive but tough as nails Kuragina and her battle-hardened troops.

  “Very good, Colonel.” He paused. “And, Cyn…you’re going to be massively outnumbered. Just try to slow them down, at least until we can get some more troops deployed.” His voice was thick with concern. Kuragina would be leading a vanguard of 700 Eagles to somehow hold off thirty times their number…at least until he got the other half of her regiment up there.

  “Don’t worry, sir. Black Eagles don’t worry about enemy numbers.” Her voice was remarkably calm, but Teller could hear the concern there too.

  “Use anything you can get…cover, terrain, anything. Just hold them off until we can get reorganized.”

  “Yes, sir. You can count on us.”

  “I know I can, Colonel.”

  He cut the line, turning his head and looking out over the small headquarters. The Black Eagles had a lot more tooth and a lot less tail than most modern fighting forces. Darius Cain wasn’t just a tactical genius. His administrative and organizational skills—and Teller’s as well—had been as crucial to making the Eagles the efficient force they were.

  He switched the com frequency. “Captain Camerici, I want the White Regiment’s second battalion recalled immediately and formed up for battle. I will be leading them forward myself.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a hitch in her voice. Teller knew it was concern about him moving up to the front lines. He sighed.

  How many times have I given Darius shit about that? But we’re in big trouble here…and I’ve got to stop this new force from breaking through. Somehow. He shook his head. And if Darius was here, I’d be telling him to send someone else…

  “The forces attacking the main enemy line are to disengage and pull back at once,” he said.

  There was a pause. “But, Colonel…the reports from the front suggest that the enemy is on the verge of breaking…”

  “Yes, Captain, but we’ve got a huge force moving against our flank and rear.”

  And unless I’m completely wrong, we’re going to find these troops are a hell of a lot better than the Eldari levies.

  “I want Falstaff’s Black Regiment to redeploy immediately. They are to move east to support Camerici’s people against the new attack. Cornin is to pull his Reds back three kilometers and dig in facing the Eldari forces. Once his positions are prepared, I want one of his battalions to man the defenses. The other is to withdraw and move to the flank to relieve Vandeveer’s people. Once the Re
ds are in place there, Colonel Vandeveer is to pull the Blue Regiment back to this location to serve as a mobile reserve.” He paused. He realized he had hit her with a tidal wave of orders. “Is all that clear, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir. Clear.” She was already relaying his commands to the various officers involved.

  Teller just shook his head. He’d never seen a tactical officer as sharp and fast as Camerici. Even in an organization like the Black Eagles, she stood out.

  “I’m heading to Kuragina’s position to get her second battalion moving. When Colonel Vandeveer gets here, he is in command of headquarters.” He paused. “Until then, you have my proxy, Captain. You’re in charge.”

  “But, Colonel…” Camerici sounded shaken…in a way she hadn’t while discovering a huge enemy force moving against the army’s rear. Teller had just effectively put her in command of a dozen superior officers.”

  “You understand the situation better than anyone else here, Antonia.”

  And I think I trust you more than anybody else here too.

  “You can handle it. And Vandeveer will be here soon.”

  He better be…because I’m going to need those reserves.

  Then he turned and jogged over the hill toward Kuragina’s command post.

  He knew one thing for sure. Everything that had happened so far had been preliminary. The real test had just begun.

  * * * * *

  Darius Cain’s eyes stared out though his visor, watching the enemy soldiers fall as he fired his assault rifle again and again. He had the weapon set to three-shot bursts, and every time he pulled the trigger, an enemy died. He was a consummate professional at war, an artist with the weapons of death, but there was something different at play here. No matter how much he tried to pretend this was a normal mission, the fact that he might be less than fifty meters from his father, the man he’d thought dead for so long, dominated his thoughts.

  Darius had always been cool under fire. He and his soldiers had killed only because their jobs demanded it…and they didn’t draw satisfaction from violence. Until now. He relished every kill, every strike against the force that had brought him here, that had perhaps held his father prisoner for years. He knew those he gunned down were common soldiers, not at all responsible for whatever the Eldari Tyrant had done to his father. But the cold fact was, he didn’t care. He held all of Eldaron responsible for their leader’s actions…and his mind seethed with what he would do to them if they had killed his father.

  Ernesto Alcadebo was right next to him, firing with the same gusto, though his urgency was born of different motivations. The Eagle captain considered it his overriding duty to keep Darius Cain safe. And gunning down enemy soldiers before they had a chance to shoot the general was the most straightforward way to accomplish his goal.

  There was no doubt in Darius’ mind his people were expected. The doorway into the detention area had opened into a large chamber, thirty meters square, and there were at least fifty enemy soldiers waiting. But Darius had brought two hundred Black Eagles with him, and though only a dozen and a half had managed to pour into the room with him, they had cleared it of the enemy in less than half a minute. The Eldari soldiers wore sectional body armor, but it wasn’t self-contained and nuclear-powered like the Eagles’ fighting suits. The hyper-velocity coilguns Cain’s people used tore through the breastplates of the defenders, ripping their bodies to bloody chunks in an instant.

  The first fight was over, but the large anteroom had over a dozen hallways leading off in every direction. Cells, Darius thought. It wasn’t a surprise that the Citadel had such a large detention area. Governments like the Tyrant’s tended to arrest a large number of citizens, a necessary effort for one trying to maintain a brutal dictatorship and crush all opposition. But Darius hadn’t come to bring freedom to Eldaron’s oppressed political prisoners. He had come for a single captive. And he knew he was running out of time.

  “Where?” Cain shouted to his captive. “Which of these corridors?” There was death in Cain’s voice, and the prisoner feel to his knees, whimpering and begging for his life. Darius reached down and grabbed the fool by his hair, lifting him up with a single powered arm. He extended his blade on the other side, and held it a few centimeters from the terrified man’s face. “This is your last chance, Henri…tell me which corridor or I will cut you into quivering chunks right now.”

  The miserable Eldari screamed in pain, but he managed to fight through his fear and agony long enough to hold out a shaking arm. “That one,” he managed to rasp softly. “Down at the very end.”

  Darius stared for a few seconds, trying to decide if he believed the man. This would be a moment for treachery too, though he doubted the Eldari had the courage for that…and the prisoner had to know that whatever happened in the next few minutes, Darius would find a way to repay betrayal.

  The room was filling with armored figures, more of the Teams pouring in. “I want a single Team down each of these corridors. Conduct a quick recon, but don’t get too far from here.” He believed his prisoner, but not enough to forego checking out the other hallways. “Ernesto, organize three Teams and come with me.”

  Darius took a couple steps and stopped, turning to stare back at the terrified captive. “And bring him,” he said as he moved swiftly toward the designated corridor.

  Alcabedo rushed to keep after him, gesturing for the designated Teams to follow him. He grabbed the prisoner himself, dragging the man roughly behind him until he was able to hand him off to one of the troopers.

  Cain stopped in front of the closed hatch and paused for an instant. He looked like he might be thinking of how to unlock the door when he whipped up his assault rifle and opened fire on full auto. The tiny shards of hardened iridium left the weapon at almost 5,000 meters per second, and when they struck the metal around the edge of the hatch, both target and projectile vaporized.

  It took less than a second for Darius to blow a large hole on the edge of the hatch, and then he leaned forward and shoved it open with all the force his fighting suit’s servos could manage. The door let out one loud creak, and then it tore off its track, falling to the ground into the corridor.

  Darius’ rifle was already down in front of him when the hatch gave way, and he opened up almost immediately, targeting the half dozen Eldari troops standing in the corridor.

  The hall was long, two hundred meters or more, and there were small doors on each side. Cell doors, Darius thought, feeling a surge of unfocused anger when he wondered how many of the occupants of this prison had committed no greater crime than speaking freely or seeking to protect their families.

  Whatever I find, that kind of thing is over here. When I leave, if Eldaron survives it will no longer bow under the rule of one who calls himself Tyrant.

  Darius wondered for an instant if he’d ever heard of a dictator who actually took the title Tyrant. It was supreme arrogance, but he couldn’t help but admire the honesty of it…the sheer brazenness. But that won’t stop me from spilling every drop of his blood…

  He ran down the hall, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Sweat poured down his neck, his back, making his armor even more uncomfortable that it usually was. But he ignored it all. “Have a Team cover the rear,” he snapped to Alcabedo. He didn’t know the layout of the Eldari prison, and he suspected the way they had come was the only entrance…but there was no point taking chances.

  “Already done, General.”

  Darius nodded, a cumbersome gesture in armor. Of course you did, he thought, allowing himself a fleeting smile. Ernesto Alcabedo was one of the Eagles’ best, and he took his job as bodyguard very seriously. But he hadn’t faltered in his regular duties, not an iota.

  Darius stopped abruptly. The corridor ended in front of a door, similar to the others, but a bit larger. This is it, he thought…and he summoned all his discipline, all the calm he could muster. He took half a step back and aimed his rifle at the locking mechanism. He was more careful this time, conce
rned about any rounds or debris going through the door…and hitting anyone inside the cell.

  I’m have come, father. I have come for you…if you are here.

  He took a deep breath and opened fire.

  * * * * *

  “Stay down, you fucking assholes. These aren’t Eldari toy soldiers firing pop guns. Those are hyper-velocity rounds coming in, and they’ll rip your suits open like you’d pop a can of beans.” Joseph Trent was crouched low, peering out over the small ridgeline at the enemy position a klick and a half to the east.

  Trent was a sergeant, but he didn’t hold a sergeant’s post. He was Dan Sullivan’s backup as company commander, and one of the few non-coms in the whole outfit who had a direct line to Darius Cain. The Eagles were a precision outfit, and in the field they usually stuck pretty close to regs, calling each other by proper ranks and the like. All except Joseph Trent. No one called him by his names, first or last…or even his rank. No, to everyone in the Eagles, from newly recruited private to the regimental commanders and above, Sergeant Joseph Trent was known as Bull.

  No one was sure whether the name had attached itself to the veteran non-com because of his size and enormous build…or because he was stubborn enough to pound his way through an obstacle with his head. But however it had come into the Eagles’ lexicon, Bull Trent was one of the great heroes of the organization, a man Darius Cain had personally decorated half a dozen times.

  Darius had tried to promote Bull as well, but the pigheaded sergeant had refused, insisting he was a non-com at heart, and that’s what he would stay. Nevertheless, ability could not be long denied in an outfit like the Eagles, and though his fatigues still bore the three stripes of his official rank, it had been a long time since he’d stepped onto a battlefield to do a sergeant’s job.