The Fall: Crimson Worlds IX (15 page)

“Yes, sir.”  Jackson’s voice was businesslike, non-committal.  She had no stake in whether the troops in Africa escaped, but she was surprised at Warren’s decision.  She’d known him for a long time, and she’d thought he lacked the brutal decisiveness his job required.  Now she was reevaluating, trying to figure out how Warren was adapting to his myriad new responsibilities.

“So we have been driven out of Asia, driven out of Africa.”  He stared at the map, but he wasn’t seeing anything.  He was deep in thought.  “It appears we are at a stalemate of sorts, and not one that is not to our advantage.  The Caliphate and the CAC have no easier time reaching the rest of our possessions than we do of striking theirs, but they now possess superior resources than we do.”

“That is true, sir.  Though, at least we have time for further mobilization and reorganization.”

“And what will happen while we are calling up reservists and training new recruits, Number Two?”  Warren stared right across the table.  “The RIC and Caliphate will get organized and crush the CEL.”  He took a quick breath.  “And the CAC will focus on the PRC.  With enough support from the Caliphate, they may even successfully invade.  Admiral Young has performed admirably, but I doubt he can defeat the combined CAC and Caliphate navies, and if the enemy is able to establish local dominance, the PRC could be in trouble.”

“So what do you propose, sir?”  Jackson returned Warren’s stare, a nervous look on her face.

“Well, it’s a sideshow, but we have to knock the South Americans down.  They’ll never successfully invade up Central America, but bogging them down in the jungles isn’t enough.  We’ve got to weaken CAC-Caliphate power bloc any way we can, and right now the empire is the most vulnerable to our forces.  Advise General Dougherty I want a detailed plan for the destruction of the empire.  And I want it by the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”  She hesitated, waiting to see if he would add anything.  “And what else, Mr. President?” she finally said.

He looked back at her, and for an instant his mask of confidence failed him.  “I have no idea, Anne.”

She was about to respond when the com unit buzzed.  “Mr. President, I have an incoming communication for you, sir.”

Not now, Warren thought.  I don’t have time for this.  “Who is it?” he barked.

“It is Minister Li from the CAC, sir.  And she says it is urgent.”

Duncan Campbell coughed hard, choking on the smoke and toxic fumes hanging thick in the air of his savaged flag bridge.  John Carter was a wreck floating through space, a broken vessel trailing great plumes of frozen gas and liquid behind its twisted and battered hull.  She had given her all to the fight, struggled with every scrap of might and resolve she and her crew could muster.

Campbell picked up a portable mask and strapped it on his head, breathing deeply.  It was hard to position the breather with one arm, but that’s all he had.  His left arm was useless, broken in several places, and bleeding heavily where a piece of shattered bone had punctured the skin.  The stricken appendage throbbed, and any movement at all sent a red hot pain racing up to his shoulder.  The lower half of the arm was twisted out at a grotesque angle, a visual manifestation of how badly mangled it was.  The medics had rushed to his station when they first arrived, but he’d ordered them to tend to the others first.  Many of his people more seriously injured than he was.

The pure air cleared his head almost immediately, and he looked around at the battered wreckage of his command center.  The bridge was dimly lit, and only the emergency lights and the most vital workstations were functioning.  John Carter was gutted, and there were still fires raging throughout the vastness of her hull.  Her exhausted damage control teams worked tirelessly to save what was left of the ship, and gunners, navigators, stewards - everyone else onboard - had been drafted into the effort.  Campbell had ordered Carter’s last functioning reactor shut down, for fear the damaged unit might lose containment.  The lack of power wasn’t helping the repair effort, but Campbell couldn’t take the risk.  Even a microsecond’s failure of the containment field would turn John Carter into a small, short-lived sun.

The admiral had taken tactical control of the ship when Captain Cartwright and most of the bridge crew were killed by a well-placed enemy laser pulse.  The shot had blown out a huge section of the hull, and Cartwright and most of his people had been killed instantly, their bodies blasted out into space. 

Cartwright almost made it through, Campbell thought sadly.  The shot that had killed him was almost the last one fired by Liang’s beleaguered flagship.  John Carter had followed its prey mercilessly, pounding it again and again.  An instant after the blast that had killed Cartwright, Liang’s ship was bracketed by four x-ray lasers from John Carter, and the big vessel disappeared in a maelstrom of nuclear fury.

Campbell’s strategy had paid off, despite the horrendous cost.  With its commander reduced to his component atoms, the battered enemy fleet broke up and fled, making a run for the warp gate.  Conventional strategy would have called for a vigorous pursuit, but Campbell knew his fleet had nothing left.  They had completed their mission, driven the invaders back, paying a terrible price for the outcome he was sure many would call a victory.  He’d ordered all ships to hold their positions and concentrate on damage control.  He’d lost enough people and ships, and now it was time to save what he had left.

Campbell didn’t have a complete picture of just how badly his forces had been hurt, but he knew nearly half his ships had been destroyed outright.  He was still waiting for casualty figures and final damage reports from most of the others, but he knew the news wouldn’t be good.  He’d lost a lot of friends in the battle.  Some he knew about already, and he was sure there would be others as the reports came in.  Thousands of loyal naval crew had been slaughtered, manning their stations to the end.  He had his emotional wall up now, and he didn’t feel much, but he knew it would hit him hard later, when he finally took off his stars and faced what had happened as a man and not an admiral sworn to duty above all things. 

Many of his ships had full or partial losses of power and damage to their com systems.  He suspected it would be days before he had a reliable idea of just how badly the fleet had been damaged.  He feared for the worst, and he knew it would be a long time before Mars would once again put a credible battlefleet into space.

He looked around the flag bridge, now serving as John Carter’s control center as well.  There were broken structural members lying around, including one that had killed two of his staff.  There were torn conduits laying twisted on the deck.  They were inert now, but before he’d shut down the reactor, they’d been live, dancing around the floor carrying enough voltage to fry a man in an instant.  He tried to imagine scenes from around the ship, in areas less protected than the flag bridge.  He suspected whole sections had been blown out, vast sections of the ship exposed to space.  He knew there were fires raging out of control, damaging intact systems and sucking precious oxygen from inhabited areas of the stricken vessel.

He took a deep breath.  His crews had done their duty, they had earned the gratitude of the people of the Confederation with their courage and their fortitude.  Whatever the cost, Stark’s fleet had been driven back to the warp gate and out of the Sol system.

“Admiral…”

It was Christensen, and the instant he heard her tone he knew something was very wrong.  His head snapped around, and he saw her face, and the tears streaming down her cheeks.  “What is it, Lia?”  His stomach tightened into a knot.  Christensen was a hardnosed officer, a veteran not easily upset.  Anything that brought tears to her eyes at her post had to be catastrophic.

“We just got a communique from Mars, sir.”  Her voice was soft, her words choked with emotion.  “The enemy got ships past us somehow.  They attacked Mars while we were fighting.”  She hesitated, sniffling, trying to get the words out.  “The Metroplex, Argos, Olympia…they’re all gone sir.”

Campbell felt as if a frozen hand had clenched his spine.  Gone?  How was it possible?  The battle, the victory his men and women had paid for with their sweat and blood.  It had all been pointless.  They had failed…they had failed to defend their people.

He imagined the great cities of Mars, their massive domes shattered, their deserted streets as frozen as the lifeless surface of the Red Planet.  How many were dead?  Had the populations made it to the underground shelters?  Or had they died with the cities?

He sat stone still, feeling as if he would vomit at any second.  His thoughts were racing, a frantic uncontrollable maelstrom raging in his head.  He struggled to focus, to remain in control.  He knew what he had to do.  He wasn’t sure it would help, but it was the only option.

“Lieutenant…”  His voice was as firm as he could keep it.  He was trying to set the example for Christensen and the rest of his people.  They were shocked, devastated, wounded.  But Mars still needed them, possibly more than ever.  “…I want the reactor restarted immediately.  All ships capable of maneuver are to be ready in 30 minutes.”  He looked around the ruins of the flag bridge, at the stunned faces staring back at him.  “We’re going home.”

“The trail is faint, General.  It’s extremely difficult to follow.”  The stress in Jenning’s voice was obvious.  He was trying not to lose a trail he wasn’t even sure existed.  He was half convinced they were following nothing at all.  The tiny bits of debris, a gram or less in some cases, were far from conclusive evidence that a ship had come this way.  Especially a ship whose existence was barely more than a theory to begin with.  They’d destroyed one vessel in Mars orbit, but it was pure conjecture that there had been more than one there.

“Stay on it, Captain.  This course leads into the asteroid belt.”  Cain’s voice was solid, definitive.  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind they were following a vessel, and he was equally certain Gavin Stark was aboard.

“It’s a perfect place for a secret base.  It could be an asteroid in a thinly explored region or even one disguised as a mining base.”

Cain’s obsession with Stark was driving him to push Jennings hard, but there was another reason too.  Cain was no stranger to pain and loss, but he couldn’t imagine what Jennings was feeling, having witnessed the devastating attack on his homeworld.  In his experience, there was no better way to handle personal pain than diving in and surrendering to duty.  Cain was a normal man in many ways, but when he stepped onto a battlefield, he shoved his humanity away, into a deep part of his mind.  The warrior had little use for the man and his weaknesses.

“Yes, General.”

Jennings had his orders, and those were to do whatever Erik Cain requested.  His mind kept drifting back to Mars, wondering how bad the damage had truly been, but he was a warrior, and he would do his duty.  He didn’t have Cain’s ability to bury his pain, but he was a veteran, and it showed.  “If they are heading for an asteroid base, we will know soon.”

Cain sat down at one of the workstations.  He was edgy, jumpy.  He’d been up and down 20 times during the short trip from Mars to the asteroid belt.  He’d been pursuing Gavin Stark for six grueling months, from one end of occupied space to the other, and for two decades before that, he and his Marines had struggled against the bastard’s schemes.  He could feel the excitement of bringing the long battle to an end.  His hands were shaking with anticipation, and deep inside him, the monster that gave Erik Cain his strength was ready to taste blood.

“General, it appears the enemy vessel is decelerating.”  The trail of debris was thicker, denser, and Sand Devil’s scanners were picking up something that might be a tiny leakage of energy from the stealth vessel.

“Cut all power.  Now.”  Cain’s voice was soft, an instinctive reaction to his desire to hide from the enemy’s scanners.  The Torch wasn’t a stealth ship, but on minimal energy output it would be hard to detect at this range.  “Scanners on full passive mode.”

Cain’s nervous energy almost drove him out of his seat again, but he forced himself to stay still.  He was watching the scanning report, waiting.  The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity as he sat there staring at the screen.  Had he finally found Gavin Stark? 

“Stand back, Captain.”  Vance roared, almost shaking the very foundations of the bunker.  “I am going to suit up, and I am going to the surface, and no one is going to stop me.”  He glared at the Marine officer with eyes that could melt solid plasti-steel.  “Do you understand me?”

The officer stood firm.  Anyone else would have cringed and obsequiously surrendered to Vance’s demands, but the Marine was made of sterner stuff, and he returned the stare with equal resolve.  “If you are going out there, sir, I must insist that you take an appropriate escort.  I will assemble a reinforced company to go with you.”

“A company?”  Vance respected the captain, and he realized the officer was only doing his duty to protect him.  But he also knew there weren’t any Marines to spare right now.  The whole planet was in crisis, and he couldn’t even guess at how many emergencies were waiting to be addressed.  “How about a squad?”  He stared at the officer for a few seconds.  “Come on, Captain.  We both know no one landed on the surface.  The enemy did what they intended to do, but this isn’t an invasion.  A squad is more than enough escort.”

The captain nodded grudgingly.  “Very well, sir.  But you need to wear armor.”

Vance was going to argue, but he knew there was no point.  The captain was right.  He had to wear an enviro-suit anyway, and some kind of radiation shielding as well.  He might as well get it all in one with a Marine fighting suit.

“Very well, Captain.  If it doesn’t take too much time to find me one.”

The officer spun around.  “Sergeant Givens,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir.”  The Marine stood at attention.

“You are to escort Mr. Vance to the armor bay and assist him in getting into one of the all-purpose suits.”  The captain’s voice was like steel amid the crisis.  “You will then assemble a squad and escort him to the surface.  You are to stay with him anywhere he chooses to go.”  His eyes narrowed.  “I hold you responsible for his safety.  Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.  Understood.”

The captain turned toward Vance.  “If you will go with the Sergeant, sir, he will see to your needs.”

“Thank you, Captain.”  Vance looked over to the waiting non-com.  “Lead on, Sergeant.”

“Sir!”  The Marine nodded and turned around, leading Vance out into the hall toward the armor bay.  The corridors were busy, filled with Marine personnel and emergency service workers rushing from one disaster to the next.

Vance still felt sick, and he was struggling to come to terms with the enormity of the catastrophe he had just witnessed.  He blamed himself for it all, for letting Gavin Stark get the better of him.  If he’d been more careful, considered the situation more deeply, maybe things would have been different.  He knew better intellectually.  War was war, and if it went on long enough, destruction spread everywhere.  But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something, been duped by Stark once again.  Perhaps he should have suspected Stark’s stealth ships, or at least realized the invasion force at Saturn was just a diversion.

Things could be worse, he thought grimly.  For all the devastation that had been wrought on the surface, most of the people had been evacuated in time.  The original settlers had built underground cities and only years later constructed the great domes on the surface.  There were kilometers of semi-abandoned corridors and old dwellings that had sat empty for half a century.

Vance and his predecessors had been extremely cautious, ever fearful of a war with one or more of the Earth Superpowers, and the tunnels were well-stocked with emergency supplies and equipment.  The population was far larger than it had been when the subterranean dwellings were last inhabited, but Vance knew they would manage somehow.  Most of the people would survive, though standards of living would plummet.  Mars’ economy was in ruins, and its people would live in overcrowded apartments and depend almost entirely on government aid to survive. Freedom would be lost, at least for a generation or more.  He and the council would have to rule like dictators, control every resource the planet still possessed.  If they didn’t, Martian civilization would never survive.