MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (4 page)

“It was hard to convince some of the other officers, but I finally managed it.  The First Imperium put a hell of a scare into them, and it hasn’t worn off yet
.”  No surprise there…those robot legions were the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a nightmare from hell.
  “None of them could argue we didn’t need to be ready.  Besides, they were all facing the same option—scrapping the ships instead of entrusting them to your care.  Still, there is much suspicion, even between allies.  Most former Alliance officers don’t like the idea of ‘giving away’ our most powerful ships.”

Garret had led humanity’s united forces against the First Imperium, and in the aftermath of the final battle on Earth, he’d gathered the naval commanders of the former Superpowers to a summit meeting.  Even after the horrendous losses of the final war, they had far more vessels than the economic output of the colonies could support.  And the political bonds between those worlds were rapidly dissolving.  Without the oppressive Earth governments, planets were declaring independence everywhere.  The surviving military forces were quickly finding themselves without nations to serve.

It had taken weeks of debate and negotiation, but Garret was still a larger than life figure, renowned by all as the man who had saved humanity from the First Imperium.  He had always been uncomfortable with the share of credit he’d been given for a victory won by the sacrifice of thousands of men and women, but he was a master tactician, and he didn’t hesitate to use the adoration to gain acceptance for his plan.  In the end, he’d won widespread approval, and it was agreed that hundreds of mothballed vessels—battleships, cruisers, destroyers—would be stored on the Martian moon of Phobos, a reserve against the day when all mankind would again face the prospect of doom at the hands of an alien enemy.

It was an ideal location.  The Sol system was deep in human-controlled space, insulated from any hostile future contact.  Mars was the last Superpower, and though the destruction of her four largest cities late in the war made her power a shadow of what it once had been, she still wielded far greater strength than any of the colony worlds.  The Martians could defend the stored vessels, ensure that no rogue parties took control of them.  Though the Confederation had sided openly with Garret and the Alliance Marines in the last war, her history had been one of cautious neutrality.  The Confederation was the natural choice to be custodian of mankind’s surplus weaponry.

“I will do everything in my power to keep all of this safe, Augustus.  And ready.”  Vance sighed softly.  “For the day we need it again.”  There was sadness in his voice, but not a shred of doubt that day would come.

*        *        *        *        *

“Three days isn’t much of a honeymoon, is it?”  Jarrod Tyler was sliding his neatly folded clothes into a small duffle bag.  The room was pleasant, a small bungalow on one of the tropical islets that dotted Columbia’s equatorial zone.  Tyler had known Lucia his entire life, but it had been much more recently he’d realized he loved her—and even less time since he’d discovered she reciprocated his feelings.

“Indeed it is, my love, but duty calls.  A soldier like you should know that.  The election is less than three months from now, and I can’t spend my days basking in the sun while Walker and his people slander me mercilessly, now can I?”  She lifted her head and gave him a warm smile.  The sun had lightened her normally dark brown hair, and her nose and forehead were dotted with pink, peeling skin.  Three days in Columbia’s searing equatorial sun had certainly been enough to give her a sunburn.

“Like you can lose.  I’m not even sure why that fool is running against you.”  Lucia had been the president of Columbia before the final war against the Shadow Legions.  She’d yielded her powers to Tyler, in accordance with the crisis provisions in the planetary constitution, and the erstwhile general—now her husband—in turn yielded his dictatorial mantle as soon as the enemy was defeated.  Lucia had spent most of the past two years struggling to hasten the recovery of her battered world.  Indeed, even her wedding had been delayed, continually postponed to make way for her herculean workload.

“You can always lose, my love.  Neither one of us should ever forget that.”  Her voice was pleasant, teasing, but there was a nugget of seriousness there too.

“What were you up in the last poll?  Forty points?”

“Forty-one,” she replied.  “But people are fickle, Jarrod.  A smart politician takes nothing for granted.”

Tyler made a face.  He detested politicians with a roiling passion.  He’d never thought of Lucia as one, but of course that was foolish.  She’d been a politician for years, and an enormously successful one at that.  And one of the very few he’d ever seen who always seemed to stay focused on the good of the people and not the accumulation of personal power.  He couldn’t imagine the population turning on a leader like that, not when most of the others were corrupt and focused on their own political gain above all things.

He glanced down at the chronometer on his wrist.  “You don’t have anything scheduled until tomorrow, right?”

“No,” she said, some confusion in her tone.  “Why?”

“Well…”  He moved quickly across the room.  “I thought maybe you could squeeze in a small—very small—political rally down here…”

“On this island?”  She stared at him questioningly.

“In this room.”  He slid up behind her and slipped his arms around waist.  “After all, you will be wanting my vote, won’t you?  How do you plan to earn it?”

She turned her head and leaned back.  “Oh, so is that how it is?”  She leaned back into him, a wry smile on her face.  “Well, I suppose I can spare twenty minutes for a loyal voter.”

He pulled her closer and kissed the back of her neck softly.

“Ok, ok,” she said softly.  “An hour.”

Chapter 3

“With all due respect, General Akeem, over fifty of my Eagles are missing, and contract or no contract, we are not leaving until I know what happened to them.”  Cain stared at the Raschidan officer, not even trying to mask his contempt.

“General Cain, while I understand your forces suffered some unanticipated casualties, may I point out that your losses for the entire campaign were still extremely light.  Perhaps this platoon was careless in rounding up the Karelian stragglers and was taken by surprise and wiped out.”  Akeem had an irritating voice, and it wasn’t doing anything to improve Cain’s mood.

Cain stared back at the Raschidan commander with molten eyes. 
Careful, you inbred piece of rat shit
.  “My soldiers are not careless, General.”  Cain saw Akeem twitch uncomfortably, an irritated look crossing his face. 
You want me to call you Lord Akeem, but that is never going to happen, asshole
.  “There is something unexplained here, and I have no intention of going anywhere, not while there is the slightest chance my troopers are alive.”  He paused.  “That is to your benefit, as well, since you will have to administer Karelia when we do leave.” 
And anything that can wipe out fifty of my people can obliterate half of your pathetic little army
.

Cain could see Akeem was fighting to control his anger.  He’d have found the whole thing laughable if he hadn’t been so focused on his lost platoon.  If Akeem decided to bet that he was untouchable, the pompous ass was in for a rude awakening.  Cain would drop the Raschidan general in a heartbeat, and the Emir would accept his utterly insincere regrets before he’d make an enemy out of the Black Eagles. 
Skulk back to your headquarters, Akeem…stay alive.

“But fifty soldiers?”  Akeem sounded genuinely confused as well as annoyed.  “I cannot imagine what your continued operation is costing.”  He paused.  “The planet is pacified.  Per the contract, we are no longer responsible for your expenses.  Why would you remain here at such cost over fifty soldiers?”

Cain felt a rush of anger, but it was quickly overwhelmed by disgust.  Akeem wasn’t worth his rage.  “I do not expect you to understand this, Akeem, but I do not place a monetary value on my soldiers’ lives.  Death in battle is a hazard of our trade, but when I lose Eagles, I know why.  Always.  And there is something going on here that I do not understand.  Yet.”  There was a cold edge to his voice, a non-verbal message. 
Get the hell out of my headquarters.  Now.

Akeem didn’t look satisfied, but he took the hint.  “I will be in my command post,” he grunted, and he turned and walked away.

Cain was already ignoring the Raschidan commander.  He was deep in thought, going over everything he knew about the missing platoon.  They’d been approaching the river when they had last reported in.  A few minutes later, the command post lost their signals.  Something must have jammed their com, because there had been no warning, nothing.  One instant their transponders were relaying their locations per normal procedure, and the next they were gone.  And by the time the scouting party arrived to investigate, there was nothing left but a few scattered signs of fighting.

The Karelians didn’t have anything like jammers that powerful.  If they had, they’d have used them in Petersburg where they could have seriously messed with his forces.  Even if he considered the possibility that it was a Karelian force that had attacked his Eagles—something that still didn’t pass the smell test—they had used weapons and equipment he knew damned well the locals didn’t possess.  No matter how he looked at it, there was tech at play that had come from someplace else, even if Karelian soldiers had pulled the triggers.

“Erik!” he called out to the anteroom.  “You out there?”

“Here, General.”  Teller came rushing through the door.  He rarely used rank when addressing Cain, usually calling his childhood friend by his first name.  But the Raschidan commander had just left, and Teller was always crisp and proper around Cain in front of outsiders.  The less trusted the visitor, the more formal he was.  And Erik Teller trusted Abdullah Akeem as much he did an Arcadian hill viper.

“Erik, I want more search parties out there.  I want every square meter from Petersburg to the river scoured.  There is something strange going on.”

“I’ll give the orders, Darius.”  Teller turned to walk back out.

“And Erik?”

Teller spun around again.  “Darius?”

“I want patrol sizes tripled.  Whatever is out there, I don’t want any more of our people getting picked off.”

Teller nodded and trotted out the door.

Cain stood for a few minutes, staring at the spot his friend had occupied.  He had a bad feeling.  Something was going on.  He had no idea what it was, not even a clue.  But something in his gut told him it was bad.  And that it was just beginning.

*        *        *        *        *

“How are you feeling?”  Cain knelt down next to the cot.  The field hospital was quiet.  There were perhaps half a dozen beds occupied, but the Eagles’ losses had been mercifully light, and most of the med staff were wandering around without much to do.  The Karelians were amateur soldiers, outmatched and outgunned, and few of their weapons could even hurt the heavily-armored Eagles.

He was still clad in his fighting suit, but the helmet was fully retracted.  He suspected he was a mess.  A few days in battle armor tended to make one less than presentable.  It was a common joke that a powered infantry soldier would trade a campaign’s worth of plunder for a hot shower.  It was an exaggeration, of course, but there was a kernel of truth to it—as anyone who had ever smelled a landing bay after a long battle could attest.

Cain spent a considerable amount of time in his hospitals.  He had a habit of moving too far forward, at least in the opinion of Erik Teller, and he’d been wounded himself five times in the nine years since he’d fielded his first force of Eagles.  But mostly he came to visit his soldiers.  The men and women who served under his banner knew he enforced iron discipline, that he expected them to follow his orders with the last bits of strength they possessed.  They understood that his justice was harsh and often brutal, but they knew one other thing too.  That he watched over them like a father.  The Eagles didn’t leave their own behind, and wounded troopers could expect the best possible medical care.  And they also knew they would see their leader walking the aisles of their hospitals, checking on them, making sure they had all they needed.

But this time he was there to see someone else, an outsider.  Someone who had affected him oddly, who had been on his mind since he’d first set eyes on her.  Outside of his Eagles—and his enemies—Darius Cain tended to ignore and forget those he met, but not this time.  He stopped at one of the hospital’s cots and looked down at the occupant.

Ana Bazarov glared back at him, her blue eyes glittering with rage.  “Is this a sick game of some kind?  You bring your butchers here to kill my people then you take me to your hospital and heal me?” She was lying back, propped up on a pair of pillows, a light sheet stretched over her.

She spoke English, which was a surprise.  Karelia’s original settlers had been ethnic Russians, and few spoke anything but their native tongue.  Cain’s interest grew.  She had a heavy accent, one he found oddly appealing.  He felt a smile trying to force its way onto his face, but he held it back.  He didn’t think it would be well received.

He’d been strangely distracted when he’d first seen her, but now he realized she’d been injured more severely than he had thought.  It looked like she had broken bones in both her arm and leg, as well as half a dozen lacerations.  Her breaks and cuts had been fused, and wrapped in sterile dressings.  He suspected she was sore as hell, but she’d be up and around in a couple days, and back to normal in a week.

He paused for a few seconds, his eyes moving from bandage to bandage.  Cain was normally indifferent to collateral damage in war, but he found himself feeling regret for her suffering.  He wondered if the Eagles had caused any of her wounds. Certainly none of his people had assaulted her directly, but bombardments were indiscriminate things, and bystanders were killed and injured all the time.  He’d never tried to calculate how many civilians his people had killed in their operations.  He’d never cared.  But now he realized it must have been thousands.  Tens of thousands.

“No, it is most certainly not a game,” he said softly.  “But it was your government’s actions that brought this down on your world.  At least they shared in the responsibility.  My Eagles were merely the instrument used.  I can assure you, this would have been much worse for your people had it been any other force sent here.  Indeed, it was a group of Raschidan soldiers who were pursuing you, and mine who rescued you.  Perhaps you see some meaning in that fact?”

He was hoping to reach her, but she just scowled at him.  “Rescued me for what?  To be your slave, your spoil of war instead of theirs?  Her voice was heavy with disgust—and fear she was clearly trying to hide—but her eyes remained fixed.  She was scared and angry, but she wouldn’t look away.

“Well, you are technically my captive, I guess, but I can assure you that no harm will come to you under my stewardship.  Indeed, you are safer in my custody than you would be anywhere else on Karelia right now.”  He paused then added, “Nothing approaching slavery, and certainly not a…how did you put it?  Spoil of war?”

“Why would I believe anything you say?  If I am not your slave then let me go.”

Cain admired her spirit, even if it was mostly directed toward hating him at the moment.  “I am not even sure you can stand right now, but I am positive that you wouldn’t get a hundred meters before you collapsed.  The Raschidans have taken over the city, and I am afraid their conduct is less than admirable.  I would hate to see you end up victimized by another group of drunken looters.”   He allowed a fleeting smile.  “So, let’s say that you will accept my hospitality for now, at least until you are healed.  Then we will discuss your status.”

She nodded but didn’t respond right away.  The hatred in her gaze had faded for an instant, but then it flared back with renewed intensity.  “So, I am safe here with you…while people all over the city are raped and robbed and murdered—by the animals you placed in power.”

“I’m afraid the Raschidans are not my concern.  My people have completed their part of the operation.  We have some…ah…unexpected business to attend to, or we would have departed already.”  He saw the anger in her eyes, and he knew what she was thinking. 
My soldiers could stop the sack of the city, restore order.  Perhaps, but we cannot change the ways of the universe.
 
In the end, these people had made an enemy and allowed themselves to be conquered.  Vae Victus.  Woe to the defeated.  It is how things have always been, and protestations to the contrary are nothing but lies.  Perhaps she thinks I like it, the suffering, the destruction—that I want things to be as they are.  But it is not my choice, Ana Bazarov.  It is inevitable, like storms and earthquakes.  Mankind’s eternal curse.

He kept his thoughts to himself.  He’d found people were rarely prepared to accept the universe as it truly was, preferring to exist under varying levels of self-delusion.  Cain had never seen a use for anything but cold realism, but now he found himself hesitating.  He normally didn’t care what people thought, but he found that he didn’t want Ana to view him as a cold-blooded monster.

“But I can promise that you will remain safe.”  He turned back toward the entrance.  “Sergeant,” he yelled.  “And I have something else for you as well,” he said, looking back at her.  He watched her reaction, confusion at first then shock.

“Tatyana,” she squealed.  She threw her arms out, wincing at the pain as she did.

“Ana!”  A young girl ran toward her.  She had the same flaming red hair, but she was no older than 13 or 14.  She ran to the bed and wrapped her arms around her sister.

Cain turned and walked away, allowing himself another uncharacteristic smile as he listened to the joyful reunion behind him.

*        *        *        *        *

“Black Eagles don’t just disappear,” Cain roared.  “They don’t run, they don’t desert, they don’t hide.”  He stood at the head of the folding table, staring out at the assembled officers.  “I want to know what happened to those men, and I don’t care if you have to take Karelia apart down to the mantle to find out.”

Teller sat to Cain’s right, silently listening to his friend’s tirade.  Most people in Occupied Space had heard of Darius Cain and the Black Eagles.  The vast majority of them knew him as a dark figure, a butcher—a conqueror whose trade was human suffering.  But Teller knew this was the real Darius, his concern first and foremost for his soldiers.  He knew Cain didn’t care what people thought of him, but it upset him to see his oldest friend so mischaracterized.  Cain had spent years training his troops, honing them into a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer.  The Eagles ended confrontations quickly, with far less death and destruction that the other companies, or worse, the amateur armies of the colony worlds.