The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II Read online

  “Let’s go,” Darius shouted to the twenty Eagles scattered around the cell.

  “And the prisoners?” The sergeant standing over the captives looked toward Darius.

  Cain had been ready to tear the pathetic Eldari soldiers apart one by one, but now his thoughts were already moving forward. “Stun gun,” he said as he ran toward the stairway and bounded up in three steps. He could hear the sounds as his troops fired at the guards. The lucky Eldari faced a few hours of unconsciousness, followed by some staggering headaches…not too bad considering how close they had come to horrible deaths at the hands of a distraught Darius Cain.

  “We pulled a schematic from their main computer, Darius. I’ve got the location of the infirmary.

  Darius slapped his hand on Axe’s armored shoulder. “Good job, my friend.” He flipped a switch and put himself on the unitwide com. “Alright Eagles…follow me.”

  * * * * *

  “My God,” the Tyrant wailed miserably, “how is anybody supposed to beat troops like that?” He’d been staring out at the display, watching his shattered forces stagger back in disorder. The Eagles had redeployed to face the Omega units, and they’d only left a single battalion to face his concentrated forces. But the thinly-stretched line of mercenaries had blasted his offensives into bloody disasters. His people had suffered another 2,000 casualties in just a few hours…and the damned Black Eagles were right where they had been, staring out across a hellish no man’s land, ready to crush any new attack.

  “Your Excellency, General Trax is on your com line.”

  The Tyrant waved his hand at the officer in a gesture of disgust, but he moved to his chair nevertheless and strapped the headphones on. “Yes?”

  “I saw the repulse of your attack. You must launch another immediately.”

  The Tyrant frowned. The Omega general refused to call him ‘Your Excellency’ or Tyrant. It didn’t seem important in one way, at least not considering the crucial status of the operation. But on the other hand, it was pissing him off to no end. Twenty-five million people on Eldaron, and they all bowed down to him, spoke to him in only the most respectful and subservient tones. And then there was this upstart general, who somehow considered himself to be the Triumvirate’s senior official on Eldaron. It was intolerable.

  “That’s out of the question, General.” The Tyrant was scared of Trax, but he put all his will power into trying to hide it. “My forces require considerable time to reform and resupply.” And with what we lost to the EMP bursts, I’m damned near out of supplies…

  “The Eagles must be pinned down, at least. You face less than 600 enemy soldiers…and you have what, 10,000 or more along your lines, and in the city and the Citadel? You will attack now…and you will put more strength into it than you did last time.”

  The Tyrant felt the rage building inside him, and he saw images in his mind, that arrogant Omega general buried up to his neck as wild Eldari field boars stampeded over him. Or transfixed between two metal pillars, screaming as charge after increasing charge of electricity was pumped through his dying body. The Tyrant knew a hundred ways to punish those who failed to show him the loyalty and respect he demanded…and he’d used them all.

  “I will see to it, General,” he said, disgusted with himself for yielding so meekly. But there was no arguing with the fact that Trax and his soldiers controlled his future. The Tyrant knew his forces could never defeat the Black Eagles, and if Trax’s men failed to do so, that would be the end. He shivered as he imagined what would happen to him at Darius Cain’s hands.

  “Immediately!” The Omega general cut the line.

  “Calman!” the Tyrant roared.

  “Sir!” the senior general answered. It was obvious that he, too, was nervous…of defeat perhaps, but certainly of the Tyrant, who was clearly becoming less stable with each passing moment.

  “You call Davidoff and tell him I want another attack launched within the hour. And if he values his neck, it will be a hell of a lot more aggressive and successful than that last pathetic display.”

  “Yes, Excellency.” Calman’s tone was weak, defeated. It was clear he realized Davidoff had done the best job possible. But the Eldari forces were demoralized, and they had suffered enormous losses. There was still a critical shortage of weapons. If Davidoff ordered a larger attack, it was simple math to realize that half his soldiers would be advancing with clubs in their hands.

  The Tyrant sat down hard in his chair and stared out over the command center. He’d been planning this operation for years…the great success that would propel him to the rule of a hundred worlds. But in all his imaginings, it had never been like this. He knew Trax’s forces were pushing the Eagles hard, using their numbers to keep Cain’s people under constant pressure. But seeing how the Eagles fought, he despaired of ever defeating them. He’d heard all the legends, of course, but now he truly understood. His soldiers were like children compared to these warriors…and if the battle was to be won, it would be Trax and his legions who claimed the victory.

  And the Triumvirate will know how badly my soldiers performed…how unready we were for the Eagles. His mind was lost in a sea of fear, and he knew the promise of ruling so many worlds had already fizzled into the mist. He’d be lucky to keep Eldaron. He’d be lucky to keep his head.

  “Your Excellency, we’re receiving reports from the lower levels. Darius Cain and his soldiers are on the move out of the detention area.”

  “Where are they heading?”

  “Toward the infirmary, Excellency.”

  The Tyrant felt another flush of anger. If I find out who talked down there…

  “Alert Force Black,” he said. They are to engage the Eagles at once.” Force Black consisted of the pick of his personal guard, the eight hundred best soldiers on Eldaron. “I want the Eagles stopped before they get to the infirmary.” He paused. “At all costs,” he said, his every word an implicit threat.

  “Yes, Excellency. Colonel Vialle reports Force Black is already deployed and ready to attack.”

  “Then they are ordered to proceed…and destroy Darius Cain for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Tyrant leaned back in his chair. His guards were in place, and they knew every centimeter of those tunnels. They were positioned at every intersection, every place they could get a field of fire on the approaching invaders. They outnumbered the Eagle force four to one. There was no way Darius Cain would get to the infirmary. No way.

  Still, he felt a tension in his stomach, a nagging feeling that poked at him. There was no way the Eagles should be able to get through. But still…

  “Captain Mieren?”

  “Excellency!” The captain of the Tyrant’s guard stepped out from his place along the wall and snapped to attention.

  “I don’t want to take any chances, Captain. Too much unexpected has happened already.” And the Eagles are here…and fully engaged. No sense being careless.

  “I have a job I want you to handle personally, Captain.”

  “I am yours to command, your Excellency.”

  “Go down to the infirmary…and kill the prisoner for me. Immediately.”

  “Sir!” The Captain clicked his heels and saluted. Then he turned and moved toward the exit.

  No, Darius Cain, you will not get the better of me…no matter how fiercely your soldiers for hire fight…

  Chapter 35

  325 Million Kilometers from Planet Eldaron

  Denebola System

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “Eagle Four’s reactor is down again, Admiral. She’s bleeding atmosphere, and Captain Lorne reports he’s not sure how long he can keep life support and basic backups functioning.”

  Allegre felt the words, like crushing blows from an enemy pounding into his chest. He’d never even been close to losing a ship in his time with the Eagles, but his thoughts were back farther than that now, to the deadly struggles of his youth. Ships died by the dozens in those terrible struggle
s…by the hundreds. He could still remember the voices of the com officers making the reports they knew would be their last…

  “Advise Captain Lorne he is to take all steps possible to restart the reactor, at least long enough to get Eagle Four out of the line.”

  The line? You don’t have a line, just ten ships, and five of those are blasted half to scrap. Not that the others are far behind.

  The Eagle fleet had fought magnificently, and nearly two dozen enemy ships had been blasted to plasma. But the attackers were just too strong, and fresh ships had come up as quickly as Allegre’s people could destroy those they were facing.

  Allegre knew that, man for man, ship for ship, the Eagles were better than their adversaries. But the numbers weren’t equal, not even close, and war in space was enormously dependent upon logistics. Fighting against such a large force had quickly depleted the Eagle ships, making their position increasingly precarious.

  First, they expended the last of their missiles…and the enemy reserves still pouring into the system had fresh magazines. Allegre had maneuvered his forces aggressively, struggling to stay in close, to eliminate the enemy superiority in long-ranged weapons. Then he’d sought to use his highly-trained crews to win the battle of maneuver, bringing his vessels in on advantageous vectors. It all helped, but none of it was going to be enough.

  Allegre realized his people were going to die, but he had resolved that they would at least die well, fighting to the end. He’d thought, for a passing instant, of making a break for it, trying to extricate his fleet from the doom that was befalling it. But he quickly put the thought out of his mind. Eagles didn’t run, and especially not when they would be leaving thousands of their brethren behind. And it didn’t really matter anymore. His ships were too far from their exit warp gate, too badly battered to make good any escape attempt.

  He looked up as Eagle One’s lights dimmed for an instant as her batteries fired again. Her reactor was down to about seventy percent output, and Allegre had ordered priority to the laser cannons. He let his eyes drop toward his screen, watching to see if his flagship’s latest shot had hit.

  He felt a wave of excitement, and he looked up to see the bridge crew shaking fists in the air. There was a general shout, a cheer that he didn’t allow himself to join, though he felt the same rush they all did. Eagle One’s laser cannons had torn into one of the largest enemy ships…and a few seconds later the target lost containment and was consumed in the fury of its own fusion reaction.

  They may overwhelm us, but they’ll not soon forget the day they fought the Black Eagles…

  “Admiral!” There was surprise in the tactical officer’s voice.

  “Yes, Lieutenant? Report.”

  “Sir, we’ve got more ships transiting.”

  Allegre felt the excitement of the last kill drain away. He had been almost sure his people were doomed, but now there was no chance. None at all.

  “Very well, Lieutenant. Prepare a nav plan to pull us away from the Betalax-4 warp gate. Maybe we can finish off this task force before the new one can reach us…”

  “But, sir…the new transits are coming through the Upsilon-2 gate, not Betalax-4.”

  Allegre’s head snapped around.

  “Upsilon-2?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Allegre sighed. The Upsilon gate was right on his flank, less than a million kilometers away. Any force coming through there would be in range of his ships in a matter of minutes.

  It is over. Nothing to do now but fight until we go down.

  “All ships are to maintain maximum fire, Lieutenant.”

  It was all he could think to do.

  * * * * *

  “Colonel, we’re running low on ammunition down here.” Dan Sullivan was crouched down behind a small rock outcropping. He was staring out at the advancing enemy, taking aimed shots…and dropping a target every time he squeezed the trigger. The attack was a big one, and he knew he should be firing on full auto, taking down as many enemies as he could, but he also had an eye on his ammo supply, and he knew he was looking at trouble if he didn’t conserve.

  “We’re running low across the line, Dan.” Cyn Kuragina was tough as nails, and she almost never allowed fear or doubt to creep into her voice. But Sullivan could tell immediately she was worried. That means the situation is worse than I thought. A lot worse.

  “You’re just going to have to manage with what you’ve got, Dan,” she said, sounding almost apologetic. “I’ll try to get some supplies up there as soon as I can…but when it gets there, you need to know it’s the last you’ll see. At least until the fleet gets back.” There was another hitch in her voice when she mentioned the fleet. Admiral Allegre and his ships had been gone for two days…and there hadn’t been so much as a status report. Everybody was fearing the worst, though no one had yet voiced the concerns verbally.

  At least no enemy fleet has shown up and wiped our com network from the sky. Sullivan knew that would be the inevitable result of the fleet’s destruction…and the fact that it hadn’t happened was some cause for hope.

  “Understood, Colonel.”

  “I’m sending you some reinforcements, Dan. Two companies from the second battalion. I wish it was more, but new enemy forces keep emerging from hiding places all around the city. I have to keep something in reserve.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. Two companies will be a huge help.” Sullivan knew both of them understood the numbers at play…and just how bad the situation had become. He had taken over command of the battalion when Major Julich was wounded. That had been six hours before, and his people had repulsed three attacks since then. But the support he had expected hadn’t arrived.

  Colonel Teller had dispatched the Black Regiment to link up with the White…and launch a counterattack on the enemy’s position. It had been a daring plan, one that defied all military norms…but it also offered the chance to disrupt the enemy rear. A breakthrough would allow Sullivan’s forces to destroy a large amount of the enemy’s supplies, hopefully crippling their offensive capabilities. At least long enough for the Eagles to regain the initiative. But then more enemy troops emerged from hiding, and they launched a flank attack on the Eagles’ overall position. Teller hadn’t had a choice. He cancelled the scheduled attack and sent Falstaff’s Black Regiment to face the new assault. From all Sullivan had heard, the fighting on that front had been even more brutal than on his own.

  “Good luck,” Kuragina said. “I’ve got a company and some walking wounded working on a backup defensive line, but it won’t be ready for at least another eight hours, maybe ten.” A pause. “You have to hold until then, Dan. No matter what.”

  “Don’t worry, Colonel. We’re Black Eagles. We know what to do.” He swallowed hard. “Sullivan out.”

  He ducked and scrambled down the line. Bull Trent had taken over an autocannon after its crew had been killed, and he was manning the weapon alone. Sullivan could see exactly where the veteran was by the swath of dead enemy soldiers lying in the field in front of him. He jogged over behind the non-com.

  “Nice shooting, Bull…but I’m gonna have to have you hand that weapon off. I need you for something else.”

  “Sir!” Trent snapped back, still firing as he acknowledged his commander’s orders. “Perretti, Horn, get your asses over here and take over this gun.”

  Sullivan watched as the two veterans came running over, each of them crouched just enough to stay behind the gentle rise the company was using for cover. They walked up behind Trent, who fired right up until the instant Perretti took the weapon from his armored hands.

  “Sergeant Perretti,” Trent barked, emphasizing the rank as he did, “We are low on ammunition, so I expect you to actually aim with this fucking thing, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Tony Perretti was a troublemaker, a man who had served years in Eagles yet managed to give back every promotion he’d ever gotten through one form of indiscipline or another. But he was a born soldier too, and his extreme
reliability on the field of battle had saved him from expulsion…or discipline more severe than a demotion.

  He was Sergeant Perretti now, and he was likely to stay that way. He’d made the mistake of becoming too much of a hero on Lysandria, and Darius Cain himself had put the stripes on his duty uniform. The promotion had come with congratulations…and a warning to cut the shit and accept the responsibility he had earned. Perretti was as tough as they came, and he wasn’t scared of anyone. Except Darius Cain. And Bull Trent. And both of them had spoken.

  Trent watched for a few seconds as the two non-coms got the autocannon back in operation. Then he turned and faced Sullivan. “Where do you want me, sir?”

  “This is your Tony Perretti moment, Sergeant Trent.” Sullivan was grateful for the helmet that hid his shit-faced grin.

  “Sir?”

  “With the authorization of Colonel Kuragina, I am herby giving you a field promotion to the rank of lieutenant and placing you in command of the company.”

  “But sir…”

  “Silence, Lieutenant Trent. I know you have fought this for a long time, but in case you didn’t notice, we’re up to our necks in shit right now. Perretti is doing his duty…and you’re fuck well going to do the same. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes, sir.” The voice was sullen, defeated. But there was a spark there too. Sullivan suspected Trent would prove to be as good an officer as he’d always been a non-com. Better, even.