MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (11 page)

“All battalion commanders, prepare to execute Plan Zed.”  He spoke evenly, calmly into the com unit.  In a few moments, his remaining soldiers would launch an all-out attack.  He didn’t believe they would win the battle, but the Black Eagle units closest to their point of impact were exhausted and heavily depleted.  His forces would inflict enormous casualties before Darius Cain was able to bring reinforcements forward from the other side of his lines.  The Eagles would have their victory, but it would be a pyrrhic one.  And that had been Diomedes’ mission.

He had hoped the survivors of the Gold Spears would join his forces for the final attack, but General Ling was not part of the Plan, and he lacked the commitment to sacrifice all to degrade the Black Eagles.  Despite his knowledge that Darius Cain had vowed not to take any prisoners, General Ling had decided to contact Cain and try to surrender.  Such action was unthinkable.  It would have been highly disruptive to the Plan, and Diomedes had been compelled to terminate Ling and his senior command staff to prevent it.  His action had left the Spears’ units were cut off and in complete disarray.  Hopefully, they would continue to fight the Eagles—indeed, they would have little choice since their enemies would offer them no quarter.

Diomedes pulled himself up into the fading light of Lysandria’s short winter afternoon.  It would be dusk in less than an hour, and night in not much more than another.  The attack would begin at nightfall, and it would continue as long as combatants remained in the field.  He knew the Eagles would torture any of his people they captured; his pre-mission briefing had made that clear.  And he had no intention of allowing that to happen.  “Activate Alpha Omega protocols,” he said grimly to his suit’s AI.”

“Alpha Omega confirmed.”  The artificial intelligence’s voice had a grim sound to it.

His people were now safe from abuse at the hands of their enemies.  If they were in danger of capture, their AIs would detonate the Alpha Omega charge in their suits, killing them instantly, and hopefully taking some of the enemy with them.

He moved forward, toward the area where his soldiers were forming up for the attack.  In 90 minutes, the Black Eagles would suffer the worst losses in their storied history.  The Plan would move inexorably forward, and Diomedes and his people would die as heroes, martyrs to the cause of saving humanity from chaos.

*        *        *        *        *

“General, I’ve got a Sergeant Trent on the com.  He is insisting he needs to speak directly to you.”  Camerici sounded annoyed.  She wasn’t used to enlisted personnel arguing with her about talking with the general.

“Bull? Cain here.  What’s up?”  Cain had no such hesitation.  He was familiar with every soldier in his command, and he always had time for Bull Trent.

“I pushed a couple of my boys a little farther forward than your orders, sir.”  Bull Trent terrorized virtually everyone around him, but he was like a child speaking to a parent now.  Darius Cain had a strange ability to turn even the deadliest warriors into quivering supplicants.

“And?”  Cain knew Trent was half-expecting a dressing down, but there was no time for that.  Bull was one of the best soldiers in the Black Eagles, and Darius wanted to hear anything the man had to say.  Immediately.

“Sir, we’ve got enemy forces emerging from hidden positions, probably underground.  Battalion strength at least, and probably more, sir.  It looks like they’re preparing to launch a major attack.”  A short pause.  “Transmitting coordinates now, sir.”

“Relay your data to Colonel Kuragina, Sergeant.  And find a good place to dig in, because we’re going to fight it out along your line.  Nobody pulls back.  Understood.”

“Understood, sir!”

“And Sergeant…well done.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

Cain cut the line.  “Lieutenant, get me Colonel Vandeveer on
Eagle One
.”

“On your line, sir.”

“Ian, Cain here.  Get your men into the launch bay.  Now.  I’m transmitting coordinates.”

“On my way, sir.  We’ll be right down.  Vandeveer out.”

Hurry,
Cain thought. 
Because Kuragina’s people are going to get chewed to pieces if you don’t get down here fast.

Chapter 8

“Mr. Vance?  I am sorry to wake you, sir.”  It was Bev, sticking her head cautiously through the open door.  She had been Vance’s assistant for almost thirty years, but she still acted like invading his inner sanctum was an almost unthinkable intrusion.  His household staff had been under orders for decades to admit her to him at any time without question, but she was still hesitant to disturb him.

“What is it, Bev?”  Vance didn’t move, but his voice was clear, alert.  He hadn’t been asleep, not even close.  He sat up, and looked over toward the rectangle of light coming through the doorway.  He was naked except for a pair of shorts, but it didn’t even occur to him.  Bev was like an extension of himself, and he had no conception of modesty in front of her.

“Sir, we received a message from one of the settlements. They were under attack by an unidentified group.”  She also ignored the fact that he was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else, but her voice was still tentative, as if she was having second thoughts about disturbing him in the middle of the night.  She knew he didn’t get a lot of sleep, and she’d taken to treating him in a motherly way regarding his health and life, despite being nine years younger.  Vance’s duties had only grown in the aftermath of the final defeat of Gavin Stark and his Shadow Legions, and she had to continually remind him to eat and sleep.  She suspected he would work continuously until he dropped if it wasn’t for her.

Vance sighed.  He’d given the com units to the biggest Earth settlements, as much because it seemed to make sense than for any specific purpose he could name.  Indeed, there were many reasons the villages might call, but precious few things he could do to help them.  The settlements were attacked all the time.  They raided each other, fended off nomadic raiders.  Earth was a desperate place, and anyone who had anything worthwhile—enough food to eat, a place to sleep, fuel for fire—had to defend it, or someone else would try to take it away.

He felt sorry for the inhabitants, but he barely had enough resources to send them food, medicine, and a few basic tools.  Taking responsibility for their defense was out of the question.  Thirty years after the devastating finish to the final series of wars between the Powers, Mars herself was still struggling to rebuild.  He’d had a hard enough time getting the council to agree to the limited program of aid for the survivors on Earth.  They wouldn’t even consider military intervention.

“That is unfortunate, Bev, but you know there is nothing we can do…”  He paused.  “What settlement was it?”

“Jericho, sir.”  Her voice was somber.  “That is why I decided to wake you.”

Jericho was one of the biggest settlements on Earth, not that her own residents had any idea of that fact.  Vance had selected the village, along with three others, for the second stage of his aid plan—assuming he ever managed to get the resolution through the council.  Losing such a prime location would set things back.  There just weren’t many places on Earth that had achieved a level of development sufficient to serve as even a rudimentary base for reintroducing simple technology. 

Vance sighed.  “Any subsequent messages?”

“No, sir.”  Bev’s voice was somber.  “The supply drops are scheduled for tomorrow, so I asked Captain Clark to do a flyover.”  She looked at Vance tentatively, as if she was worried she’d overstepped her authority.

“Good thinking, Bev.  I want that data the second we have it.”

“Yes, sir.  Will that be all?”

Vance took a deep breath.  “Yes, Bev.  But if there is another communication—or any news at all—I want to know immediately.”  He stared across the room at her.  “Immediately…any time of the day or night.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir.  I understand.”  She nodded and slipped back through the still-open door.   A few seconds later, it slid shut behind her.

Vance sat on the edge of his bed and put his face in his hands. 
Jericho.  I can’t lose Jericho.  They were the best positioned for stage two.
  His mind drifted into darker thoughts.  Losing the settlement was bad enough, but this was just another in a growing list of disturbing reports, mysterious raids and disappearances all over the planet.  Someone had been attacking scattered bands of survivors and small villages for months now. 
Years, probably
.  At first Vance had written it off as an anomaly, an increase in fighting between settlements.  But it had been getting worse—and if a target as big as Jericho was vulnerable, there was clearly something more dangerous at play than rival villages fighting over food.

He got up and walked toward his desk, grabbing the light sheet and wrapping it around his shoulders as he did.  The room was cool—even thirty years after the devastating attack that had driven most of its population to the underground shelters, the Confederation was still on a strict conservation protocol.  The decision to keep the massive terraforming reactors at the poles operating at full power virtually mandated major reductions in the standard of living.  Mars’ surface temperature was considerably higher than it had been when the first settlers had landed a century and a half before, but it still took enormous power to heat the colony—and to pump its air and produce its water.

Vance had always kept his quarters at the mandated temperatures, despite his status as one of the Confederation’s wealthiest men and a member of the ruling council.  He knew many of his colleagues exempted themselves from the regulations they imposed on the population.  That made Vance uncomfortable.  He couldn’t stop his peers from indulging their personal comforts—there were far too many other battles to fight—but he’d resolved not to do it himself.  It was too much like the behavior of the politicians on Earth, and it was only too obvious where that system eventually led.  If an extra blanket could preserve his integrity, he’d decided long ago he could live with that.

He sat down and turned on his workstation. 
Who the hell could take out Jericho?  What is going on?
  He’d been somewhat worried about the prior reports, but now he could feel the stress build in his stomach.  Something was wrong, very wrong.  The situation was much more serious than he’d imagined.  And he had to find out what it was.

He moved his hand toward the com unit to contact General Astor, but he stopped himself.  The council had been adamant, despite his repeated arguments.  Mars had enough problems of its own, and they simply would not authorize the deployment of military units to Earth.  They’d approved the aid program, a sop they threw to Vance, but that was all.

He sat quietly, feeling the frustration growing inside him. 
Astor will do what I ask, and damned the council.
   He stared at the com controls. 
No, you can’t.
  Vance knew the council would eventually find out, and then they would expel him from his leadership position.  He couldn’t ignore the mandate.  Not unless he was going to launch a coup and seize total power.  But he was determined not to do that—not unless he had absolutely no choice.

But the council can’t tell me what to do with my own resources.
  Vance had long been one of Mars’ wealthiest men, the heir to a massive family fortune.  He’d suffered crippling losses in Stark’s attack on Mars and the subsequent economic collapse, but he’d managed to stabilize his remaining enterprises and, despite an 80% drop in the value of his holdings, he was still enormously wealthy.

Can I risk the family fortune?
  He had long kept his two roles separated, managing his investments and working as one of Mars’ political leaders without unduly mixing the two.  Vance had no children, but he did have a number of cousins and nieces and nephews.  Did he have the right to risk their inheritance?  It went against everything his father had taught him, all his ancestors had done.  They had never risked the family businesses, despite their record of dedication to the effective governance of Mars.

But he couldn’t put it out of his mind.  If someone was attacking Earth settlements, there had to be a reason.  Who could it be?  None of the colony worlds had the resources to project their power to Earth and, even if they could, none would dare cross Mars.  The Confederation had declared the entire Sol system as its protectorate.  Mars was battered, struggling to get its own infrastructure and economy back to pre-war levels, but it was now the most powerful human-occupied world by a large margin.

Was there some power developing out there?  Something Vance knew nothing about?  The thought was extremely unsettling.  He finally moved his hand and hit the com unit.  “Bev, I’m sorry to jerk you around so late at night, but can you come back for a minute?  I have something I want you to do, and I don’t want to discuss it over the com.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes, sir.”  Her response was immediate and professional, as always.  He suspected she’d just gotten back to her own quarters, but there wasn’t a hint of annoyance in her voice.  He realized how grateful he was to have an assistant like Bev.

He leaned back in his chair, his mind going over a short list of trusted colleagues.  He needed someone smart and capable, someone he absolutely knew would be discrete.  He considered a number of his operatives, but then he realized he’d known all along who he was going to send.  Duncan Campbell.

If he’d go.

*        *        *        *        *

“Duncan, thank you for coming so late.”  Vance stood up and extended his hand to his guest.  “Please, sit.  I took the liberty of ordering us a late supper.  I don’t know if you ate, but I was tied up in council meetings all evening, and I confess, I’m starving.”

Duncan Campbell grasped Vance’s hand.  “Of course, Roderick.  I am always available to you.  You know that.”  He glanced at the trays laid out before him.  “I did eat, but that looks awfully good.  Even post-Fall, your table has maintained its reputation.  I might enjoy a bit of a snack at that.”  He walked over and sat opposite where Vance was standing, and his host followed suit.

Vance smiled and nodded.  “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come on such short notice.”  Vance filled two glasses from an ancient looking bottle.  “But first, share this with me.  It is quite old…and very rare these days.”

Campbell reached across the table and took the offered glass.  He nodded his thanks and took a sip.  His eyes widened.  “A pre-Blight Burgundy?  I didn’t know there were any left.”  Campbell was no stranger to luxuries. His father had been a major Martian industrialist.  The Campbell’s hadn’t been as wealthy as the Vance’s but then almost no one was.  Duncan had been his widowed father’s last child, the illegitimate offspring of his housekeeper turned lover.  The elder Campbell had been determined to force his older children to accept his youngest son, but they had resisted bitterly.  Duncan had given up his claim to the business to maintain peace in the family, and he’d pursued a military career to further distance himself from any friction with his half-siblings. 

Still, Arthur Campbell had seen his son well-provided for, leaving a very large trust in place when he died.  And Duncan had excelled beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, leading the ships that faced the last of Gavin Stark’s Shadow fleet.  Campbell and his naval personnel had performed with great distinction, and they’d returned to a Mars desperately in need of heroes to celebrate.  He’d served another twenty-five years in the navy, the last fifteen as its commander-in-chief.  He’d been retired five years now, and as far as Stark was aware, he’d spent most of that time catching up with his wife and playing with his grandchildren.

“Yes, it is very hard to find these days, though not quite extinct yet.  I have a few bottles left, though not many, I’m afraid.”  Vance took a sip himself.  “We move forward in time, but not always in other ways, I am afraid.  Mankind has lost much.”

“That is true.  But there are things I find hard to mourn as well.”  He looked across the table.  “The Superpowers deserved their fate, Roderick, if not the billions who died to cleanse away the stink of their governments.  I know what they were like, in a way you could never, despite your decades of diplomatic—and other—experience.”  Vance had long been in the forefront of Mars’ international relations, but it was a substantially smaller group of people who knew he’d led the Confederation’s intelligence operation for four decades.

“The slums of Edinburgh were no joy to behold, my friend, a festering pit where most of the people went to bed hungry.  The rats would have claimed the place, if the starving Cogs hadn’t greedily scooped them up to supplement their meager diets.”

He paused, a sad look taking over his face for a few seconds.  “And if my father had not been the man he’d been, if he’d merely impregnated his housekeeper and cast her and her bastard child aside, as so many of Earth’s elite would have done, I would no doubt have spent my life there in squalor…until the day the bombs came.”

“I will not ask you to mourn the Superpowers, Duncan.  Indeed, part of my daily struggle is an ongoing effort to ensure that Mars does not go down that path.  And there are days I despair of success.  It is man’s nature to abuse what power and privilege is given to him, and those who resist such urges are few.”  He stared silently at his guest.  “But you are one of those, my old friend…incorruptible.  That is why I asked you to come here.”