Even Legends Die Chapter 3

Here is chapter three of Crimson Worlds VIII.  The book should be out on or about April 30.

Chapter 3

 

Marine HQ

West of the Sentinel Forest

Planet Armstrong

Gamma Pavonis III

 

“Get your people out of that pocket now!”  Cain’s voice was loud and raw.  The battle had been raging non-stop for three days.  For those 72 hours his Marines had held their precarious positions, grimly defending against repeated overwhelming assaults from two sides.  It was an astonishing display of will, of what raw courage and determination could achieve.  Erik Cain had been everywhere, driving his people to the end of their endurance, leading them by example.  But even Cain could only extract so much from human beings, even Marines…and now the relentless mathematics of war was asserting itself.  The lines were collapsing, and Cain’s army was in mortal danger of being split in two.  He’d pulled them back at an angle, shortening his line while still protecting the troops along the river.  But he knew he couldn’t hold the new position for long.  He just hoped it would be enough.

“I mean now, Eliot.  Our lines over here are a wreck.  You don’t have much time.”  Cain’s tone was raw and intense, emphasizing the urgency of the situation.  There was a deep fatigue too, one that showed just how close even he was to the end of his stamina.  There were two Erik Cains – the man and the legend.  He was well aware of the difference…for all his victories and medals, his ego had always remained firmly in check.  Cain used the image of the relentless, unbeatable Marine for all it was worth, but he never believed the myth himself…and he knew very well that the man was mortal, fallible, beatable.  And he knew how close he was to the end of his strength.

The second invasion force had rendered Cain’s resistance futile.  He knew his Marines had no chance to win this fight.  They were too tired, too few, too low on ordnance.  They were massively outnumbered and facing an enemy that had just been resupplied.  It was over already, save for the formalities.  But it just wasn’t in him to give up.  Surrender wasn’t a word he knew, and death was far preferable to surviving failure and defeat.  He would fight to the bitter end, until the enemy finally managed to take him down.  He knew he would never leave Armstrong.

He put those thoughts out of his head.  None of it mattered…he had a battle to wage, and until some enemy soldier put him down he would fight like a demon dragged from the deepest pit of hell.  His enemy might finally finish him off, but Cain vowed to himself that his life would come neither cheaply nor easily.  The enemy may defeat him, but he would make them pay in blood.

The enemy reinforcements had come down north of the Graywater this time, exactly where he’d expected the first invasion force to land.  They quickly compromised his defensive positions along the river and in the Sentinel.  Cain and Cooper Brown had scraped up every Marine who could be spared…cadres from shattered units, mechanics, orderlies, logistics personnel.  Everyone was a combat Marine now, and specialists who hadn’t fired their assault rifles in battle for 20 years were in the line.  These ragged forces poured into the gap between Storm’s people in the Sentinel and the new enemy formations attacking from the west.  Utterly overmatched, they desperately held against 30,000 fresh enemy troops.  They made the enemy pay for every meter, and they held for far longer than anyone had a right to expect.  But now they had reached their limit.  Cain knew the end wasn’t far away.

To the southeast, Eliot Storm’s troops were still defending the riverline, holding back the original enemy force.  They had better defensive terrain and were facing troops as exhausted as they were.  They had turned every enemy move to cross the river into a bloody shambles.  But now they were in grave danger.  The withdrawal of Brown’s troops exposed their unprotected right and rear.  If they didn’t get out fast, they’d be hit on the flank by fresh forces and overrun.

“We’re falling back now, sir.”  Storm sounded exhausted.  “I’ve got the remaining Obliterators covering the flank as we retreat.”  The Obliterators had proven to be extremely effective against standard powered infantry.  The four meter tall suits had been designed to counter the First Imperium’s giant Reaper robots, and the war on Armstrong was their first matchup against normal armored troops.  The massively-armed behemoths had proven their worth, spearheading the assault that destroyed the bridges over the Graywater and cut the enemy force in two.  It had been the turning point of the first phase of the battle, but the victory had been bittersweet.  It cost the unit its first and only commander, General Erin McDaniels, mortally wounded as she led the final assault on the Graywater bridges and cut the enemy army in two.  McDaniels had been one of the most popular officers in the entire Marine Corps.  Erik Cain had considered her one of his few true friends, and the pain of her loss was hard to bear.

Now the survivors were moving into position, forming a rearguard to cover the retreat of their comrades.  The Obliterators were lusting for revenge, straining to get at the enemy that had killed their beloved leader.  Cain had whipped them into a frenzy earlier, invoking McDaniels’ memory in an emotional - but coldly mercenary - speech, one intended to turn her grieving Marines into relentless killing machines.  They would fight better for his manipulation, and probably to the bitter end as well.  Cain was repulsed at the idea of using his friend’s death as a tool to get her people to fight harder…but he did it anyway.  One more reason to hate himself.

“Very well, Colonel.”  Cain’s voice was hoarse, overuse and fatigue starting to take a serious toll.  “But make sure your withdrawal is speedy.  We’ll try to cover your retreat, but you don’t have much time.  Cain out.”  He flipped off the com channel and turned to look at the ragged line in front of him.  It looked weak.  It is weak, he thought grimly…that’s why it looks that way.  But we’ve got to slow them down.  We’ve got to hold for a while.

He moved forward slowly, glancing at his tactical display.  The shimmering blue symbols projected inside his visor gave him an accurate flow of information on unit strengths and positions, but it couldn’t tell him what he most needed to know.  It couldn’t show him the morale of his men and women…which units were faltering…which were most likely to break.  It didn’t communicate the fear his people felt, the despair and hopelessness…the realization that their cause was already lost, that courage and determination weren’t going to be enough this time.

Cain had led thousands of Marines in every manner of desperate stand, but in the end he knew only one way to draw the last scraps of resolve they kept buried deep inside.  His men and women followed him for different reasons.  Some thought he was invincible, that no enemy could defeat him.  Others were driven by the force of his iron will, more afraid of failing him then facing any foe.  But one thing they all shared – they knew at the last stand, when all was crumbling to dust and defeat and destruction surrounded them on every side, Erik Cain would be there, rifle in hand, shoulder to shoulder when death came for them.  For all his rank and the legends that preceded him, no Marine doubted that when Erik Cain finally fell it would be in the front lines, standing with his Marines.

He pulled his assault rifle off the harness and checked the cartridge, walking forward toward the line as he did.  His people would stand here…they would hold long enough for Storm’s Marines to escape from the pocket that threatened to become a death trap.  And Erik Cain would stand in the front line with them and make sure they did and, if necessary, die there with them.

 

Alex Linden crouched down behind the giant tree.  She’d never seen a forest like this.  The Sentinel was one of Armstrong’s great natural treasures, its gargantuan trees reaching hundreds of meters into the open sky.  It was not the kind of thing she would have noticed in the past, but she was different now.  She didn’t completely understand the changes of the last few years but perhaps, given time, she would.  But for now, despite the stress, the fear, the uncertainty gnawing at her insides, some part of her mind noted the magnificence of the towering trees.  Vast sections of the amazing wood now bore the scars of war, for it was another of the battlefields where man had come to wage one of his many wars.  Still, the Sentinel was enormous, and there were thousands of hectares that remained untouched.  Alex had taken a wide route around the battlefield, traveling mostly through virgin forest.  She’d been stalking Erik Cain, but wandering too close to the fighting and getting blown to bits wasn’t going to help her complete the job.  Neither was getting picked up by a Marine patrol and sent back to the refugee camp.

She’d resolved to carry out the assassination.  She hated the idea.  She wanted to stop and drop to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach on the cold ground.  But she didn’t have a choice.  It would buy her time with Gavin Stark…maybe enough for her to get close to him.  Killing Stark was her only chance to survive; she was sure of that.  He’d shown uncharacteristic weakness in letting her come back to Armstrong, but she knew she couldn’t count on that a second time.  Even if she completed her mission, he’d never forget that she’d failed him before.  His momentary weakness would pass, and she’d never see it coming.  She knew enough from years as one of Alliance Intelligence’s deadliest assassins…you couldn’t stay vigilant all the time.  Offense and defense were not equal forces.  With enough persistence, you could get to any target.  And no one had more raw stubbornness than Gavin Stark.  No…killing the bastard was the only way.  And taking out Erik Cain was a necessary step to reaching Stark.

She wasn’t sure exactly where she was, but she knew she was getting close to Cain’s headquarters.  It didn’t look like the battle was going very well.  She’d ducked into cover half a dozen times as worn looking groups of Marines passed by, heading north, away from the front lines.  Most of them were bringing wounded comrades back with them, some staggering along with minimal assistance, others being carried.  Their fighting suits were blackened and pitted with the scars of battle.

Maybe the invaders will do the job for me, she thought.  She couldn’t imagine the legendary Erik Cain surviving a battle where his army was destroyed.  If he was killed in the fighting, it would be the same, wouldn’t it?

She shook her head slowly.  No, that won’t work, she thought, feeling the fleeting hopefulness drain away as quickly as it had appeared.  She was going to need Cain’s rank insignia, ID badge, video of the body, DNA sample…something.  If she was going to get close enough to Stark to kill the bastard, she need to be able to prove she had carried out his orders.  If he thought she was still defying him, she’d never get in the same room.  Gavin Stark had never taken anyone’s word for something important in his life.  No, I have to get to Cain myself…and I have to do it before the enemy does.

She crept around the tree, moving steadily west toward her objective.  She was hungry and tired, but she had a tremendous inner toughness, and she pushed aside her doubts.  She’d seen far worse depravation wandering the slums and badlands as a child.  She’d survived those hardships to become one of the most powerful operatives in Alliance Intelligence.  After the horrors she’d endured, the repulsive things she’d done to climb from the gutter…she wasn’t about to let anything stop her now.

She knew she was getting closer.  The bands of retreating troops were getting larger and more frequent.  They moved slowly, with leaden footsteps.  There was a pall over them, a plodding look she hadn’t seen before.  She watched from cover as each group passed.  My God, she thought, they look beaten.  They are losing.  Erik Cain’s legendary Marines are losing the battle.

That could be a complication.  How would she get off of Armstrong if the enemy won?  What kind of controls would they establish?  Could she blend in with the civilians?  Should she?  Or would the victorious invaders fall upon the helpless population in an orgy of rape and pillage?

She watched the last group move out of sight to the north and then continued on her way.  She’d gone 100 meters, perhaps 150, when she saw.  It was a Marine, dead, lying behind one of the large trees ahead.  There was a smooth, round hole through his helmet.  She almost ignored it, but something didn’t seem right, and it caught her attention.  She’d seen plenty of wounded passing by, and a few bodies too…Marines who’d obviously died of their wounds on the way back from the front.  But this wound had been immediately fatal…there was no questioning that.  As far as she’d been able to tell, there had been no fighting back this far.  Not yet at least.  So who had killed this Marine?

She knelt down and examined the body.  There was something about the look of the wound that made her edgy.  She reached around, trying to pop open the armor.  He was lying on his side.  He weighed well over a ton in his suit, and she couldn’t budge him at all.  After a few minutes she gave up and just stared at the entry hole in his helmet.  The look was familiar, characteristic…no other weapon left a mark quite like that one.  It wasn’t military issue; it was highly specialized, developed in great secrecy and used by only one organization.  A weapon she’d fired dozens of times…to assassinate well-protected targets.

She looked all around her, scanning the trees carefully…even more so than she had.  She felt a wave of cold sweep through her body.  Her situation had just changed.  There was another Alliance Intelligence assassin on Armstrong.

 

Crimson Worlds VIII: Even Legends Die

Crimson Worlds VIII will be out at the end of the month.  I published a sneak preview of chapter one a few weeks ago.  Here is chapter two (I'll post the third chapter next week).

Chapter 2

 

Saw Tooth Gorge

Red Mountains

Northern Territories, Far Concordia

Arcadia – Wolf 359 III

“Let’s go.  I want the first column moving out in ten minutes.”  Kara’s voice was raw, determined.  She glared at her second in command, a cold determination behind her sparkling blue eyes.  “No arguments, Ed.  Ten minutes.”

Calvin opened his mouth to argue, but he closed it again without speaking.  “Whatever you say, Kara,” he muttered grudgingly.  He turned and walked away, still limping from his injuries and waving his arms as he shouted out commands along the way.

Kara watched him go.  She knew he didn’t agree with her decision, but he’d go along with it…she was sure of that much.  Even Captain Mandrake thought she was jumping the gun.  The Marine officer had agreed with Ed, advising her to wait until more information was available.  But she didn’t need to wait.  She knew they were coming.  She knew.

It had been just over an Arcadian month since Admiral Garret’s fleet had burst into the system, driving away the enemy naval contingent and landing a Marine expeditionary force on the planet.  The navy also made contact with Kara’s Arcadian army and resupplied her.  They replaced the planet’s destroyed satellite grid too, and for the first time, she and her refugees understood why the enemy had never committed the strength to wipe them out once and for all.  They’d been fighting another Marine force all along.

James Teller and his Marines had landed shortly after the native army was driven deep into the Arcadian wilderness, and the enemy had been compelled to pull forces from the pursuit to face the new threat.  With the planet’s satellite network destroyed and all ground-based communication severed, Kara and her soldiers were completely cut off from their Marine allies, entirely unaware they weren’t fighting their battle alone.

Teller’s Marines were massively outnumbered from the beginning; they’d never had a real chance to liberate the planet.  But they fought hard and held out, week after week, just as Kara’s people were doing in the mountains.  Teller was just about at the end of his resources when the fleet blasted into the system and landed General Holm and his old vets, armed to the teeth and looking for a fight.

The fleet was gone now, off pursuing the enemy naval forces, but the ground troops remained.  The Marines were still heavily outnumbered, but now they had fresh reserves and a complete resupply…and with it the ability to hold out for a while longer.  Perhaps a long while.

For a month that is just what both forces had done.  The enemy controlled Arcadia City and most of the developed areas, but the Marines and the native forces remained in the field…and as long as they did, the fight would go on.  In the occupied cities, opposition was growing.  Scattered acts of sabotage were morphing into organized resistance movements, tying down ever larger numbers of the invaders to maintain control of the areas they occupied.  Kara and her commanders had even been considering staging a breakout from their positions, taking the fight to the enemy.  Then the signal came.

It was brief, spotty.  A fleeting alarm from the warp gate scanner, lasting only a few seconds before the thing stopped transmitting entirely.  Something had transited through the gate…that much was certain.  But what?  Her people had argued ever since, and multiple theories were bouncing around.  Was it a malfunction?  Could it be friendly ships inbound…reinforcements?  The arguments went on all night, but Kara just sat silently.  She had no doubts.  She knew it was the enemy.

She let them argue all evening, but her mind was made up.  Enemy reinforcements were coming, and when they landed, their adversaries would have overpowering strength.  The waiting game was over…standing in place and playing for time was a losing strategy.  In a few days the enemy would be here.  They’d destroy the satellite network Garret had left, cutting Kara’s army off again from the Marines thousands of kilometers away.  Then they would land fresh troops and hunt down the Marines, her people, the nascent rebel movements…anyone left in arms on Arcadia.

But if they wanted her world, she resolved that they would have to take it from her.  They would have to follow her forces into hell itself.  The Army of Arcadia was moving out.  She’d considered attacking the troops masking her position, hitting them before they were reinforced.  It was a tempting idea, but the mathematics hadn’t changed.  Attacking across the gorge between the armies was suicidal, at least without overwhelming superiority that neither side yet possessed.

No, her people wouldn’t be moving south into the teeth of the enemy.  They would be marching north, cutting across the planet’s brutal arctic region and out into the largely unexplored wilderness beyond.  If they made it far enough, through the bitter cold and titanic storms of the arctic and across the virtually uncharted areas beyond, they’d force the enemy to divert massive forces to pursue them.  Eventually, they’d hunt her down, but she would buy time.

They thought she was crazy…all of them.  The army would suffer enormous hardships on so difficult a march.  Calvin had argued for caution.  Mandrake agreed.  The Marine captain’s platoon was fully-armored, and his 50 men and women would be zipped up, protected from the brutality of Arcadia’s savage arctic winter.  But the native forces had no powered armor.  Her troops would march through waist-deep snow and frigid temperatures.  They would traverse icy mountain passes and make their way across the frozen sea.  At night they would huddle in their portable shelters, absorbing whatever warmth their heaters and field generators could produce.

She would lose people; she knew that.  Dozens would die on the march…maybe hundreds.  But as long as she kept her force in the field, the Arcadian cause would endure.  And that was all that mattered.  She wouldn’t let Will’s army die, no matter what the cost…no matter how many of the dedicated men and women who formed its ranks froze in the arctic wilderness or died under the guns of their enemies.  As long as the army itself survived, the cause remained alive and, in a way, Will’s spirit did too.

 

“I’d kill for some decent ground defenses.”  Elias Holm was pacing back and forth in his makeshift HQ, his armored boots scraping along the gravely floor.  There was a small table in the center of the room, a shabby makeshift construction put together mostly from scrap metal.  It wasn’t very plush for the office of the Commandant, but the Marine expeditionary force on Arcadia had to make do with what it could get.  Elias Holm had led the largest forces the Corps ever deployed, tens of thousands of crack Marines, supported by Admiral Garret’s massive fleets.  But that was another time, one that felt very long ago.  Most of those veterans were gone now, lost over the years as the Corps faced one savage battle after another.  Now Holm led less than 2,000 Marines, half of them battered and exhausted from weeks of fighting against overwhelming odds and the rest a hastily-assembled force of retirees, called back to the flag decades after their service had ended.  It wasn’t even a tithe of the strength he’d once had at his disposal, just a tattered remnant of one of the greatest fighting forces mankind had ever put into the field.

Holm hadn’t given it a second thought.  He didn’t miss luxuries…he didn’t need a huge headquarters or a cluster of aides following him around.  He was on the front lines again, giving all he had to a desperate battle.  He felt alive, in a way he hadn’t for a long time.  This is where a general should be, he thought…not behind some desk echelons above the actual fighting.  His mind drifted back through the years, from one world to another…to the planet Columbia, where Colonel Holm and his Marines had held that crucial world against an overwhelming CAC invasion force so many years ago.  It was a situation similar to the current one, though he faced far longer odds now than he had then.

It was Columbia that earned Holm his stars, in a battle where he first met then-Sergeant Erik Cain.  It was a desperate struggle, waged at the nadir of the Alliance’s fortunes in the war…and the victory was the start of the turning point.

“We might as well just sit here and let them land.”  Holm’s voice was grim, lifeless.  “It’s not like we can do anything about it.  Throw rocks maybe.”

“It’s not as bad as all that, Elias.”  Sam Thomas was sitting on the end of the table, looking up at Holm’s agitated expression.  “We’ve got a good supply of the handhelds.  We’ll take out a decent number of landers if they come down anywhere near our positions.”  Thomas knew it wasn’t really the lack of ground-to-air defenses bothering Holm.  It didn’t matter how many enemy landers they managed to shoot down.  The Marine forces on Arcadia were hopelessly outnumbered already…any enemy reinforcements that made it to the surface were too many.

Holm glanced back at Thomas and felt a sudden pang of guilt.  He’d gone to Tranquility…he’d rallied the old veterans and led them here.  Had he done it just to drag them to Arcadia to die?  To prolong a pointless defense a month or two and change nothing?  Was that all their lives were worth…all they’d earned after lifetimes of service?  To die for a purpose was one thing, but to waste your life for nothing?

“God damn, you’ve turned into a gloomy SOB, Elias.”  Thomas slapped his armored hand down on the metal table.  He knew exactly what Holm was thinking.  He could read it in his friend’s eyes.  “Stop wallowing in guilt, my old friend.  Every man and woman who came with us did so because they chose to …and I wager not one of them would change his or her mind now.  Not if a million enemy troops land on this God forsaken planet.”  Thomas sighed before he continued.  “I’m older than you, Elias, but I never had the weight on my shoulders you’ve borne these last ten years.  I knew you had a bright future back in the day, but you’ve gone beyond anything I imagined.  You remember…when I talked you out of resigning after that debacle on Persis?  But my God…Commandant!”  Thomas’ eyes stared out of his open helmet, locking on Holm’s.  “I’m damned proud of you, kid.”  He paused a few seconds, his eyes focusing briefly on the wisps of mostly-gray hair visible inside Holm’s helmet.  “And you’re running out of people who can call you ‘kid’ so enjoy it while you still can.”

Holm smiled.  “You better be careful.  People hear you talking like that you’re gonna lose your rep as a crusty old grouch.”  Holm walked back to the desk and sat down, looking back into the older man’s eyes as he did.  “Thanks, Sam,” he added softly, following it with a gentle nod.

Thomas returned the gesture.  “So,” he added after a few seconds of silence, “I guess we should get back to how we’re going to deal with these uninvited guests.  Don’t you think?”

Holm nodded and looked down at the large ‘pad sitting on the desk.  “Well…” – he paused as he stared at the map – “…if I were them, I’d bring my main force down right here…”

 

It was time.  Time for the vengeance he had so long been denied.  At last, he would put an end to those meddlesome Marines.  They had interfered with his plans for the last time.

Gavin Stark sat quietly, looking at the hazy blue disk of Arcadia displayed on his screen.  In a few minutes his forces would begin landing, reinforcing the troops already deployed on the surface.  His Shadow Legions were the equal of the Marines, at least nearly so.  They had the same training, equipment, doctrine.  Perhaps, he allowed, they were missing something the Marines had, a spirit, a pride passed to them from those who had come before.  But they were close enough, and their numbers would tell, making up for any minor quality gap.  And they were his, conditioned to follow orders without question, utterly loyal, from the lowliest private to the highest-ranked general.  Nothing like the cantankerous Marines.  And now his soldiers would destroy those troublesome Marines on the surface…and Arcadia and its resources would become part of Stark’s new empire.

His plans had been in the works for years.  Indeed, he had intended to launch Shadow much sooner, but he’d had to postpone things when the First Imperium burst into human space and started a war.  A war of survival for mankind.  He’d even considered releasing the Shadow Legions at the nadir of that conflict and sending them against the invaders.  It would have destroyed his plans for his own dominance, but his clone armies would have done him no good if he was dead along with the rest of mankind at the hands of the robotic enemy.  But he’d kept his resolve, betting that the brilliant Augustus Garret would manage a victory somehow.  And his bet paid off.  Garret did win the war…and at a deliciously high cost.  Not only was the First Imperium out of the picture, but the Powers had all suffered crippling losses in the fight.  It would be all that much easier to sweep away the opposition.

Mankind would enter a new age…and leave behind its inefficient wars and the wasted productivity and needless destruction that came with them.  They would be unified, together, moving forward in lockstep under the absolute rule of one man.  Gavin Stark.

It had taken some fancy footwork to keep his secrets.  His schemes required enormous financial resources, and he’d met the need by turning the Alliance economy into one giant illusion…a juggling act that was impossible to maintain indefinitely.  It had taken no small part of his undeniable genius to keep shuffling things around to maintain the secret…but he’d seen it done.  That charade would shatter any day now, and it would cast the world into economic chaos, a useful side effect of Project Shadow.

Yes, the First Imperium threatened his plans but, in the end, the ancient aliens had done him a favor.  The price the Powers had paid to win their victory served him well.  Stark had been worried about fighting the Marines on a dozen key colony worlds, but the Corps had been so decimated in the war they struggled to put significant forces on just two planets.  And even on Arcadia and Armstrong their forces were pathetic, inadequate.  His legions would sweep them away…and into the dustbin of history.

“Number One, Anderson-02 reporting.”  The comlink pulled him from his thoughts.  He’d ordered his staff to identify themselves by name and number in all communications.  He’d been assured they would all develop on their own paths after leaving the creche, as each faced a different set of experiences.  But he still found them to be relentlessly alike, even the ones who’d been out the longest.  The clones made dependable and capable soldiers, but they all sounded the same to him, even ones from different lines.  The cadence of their speech was the same, droning, with an unnatural monotone.

“Yes, what is it, general?”

“All systems are ready to go, sir.  Request permission to begin the landings.”  Anderson-2 was the highest ranking of all the clones, Anderson-1 having been expended in an earlier test.  Stark had insisted from the beginning of the project on using clones to fill his entire chain of command.  He’d seen enough treachery – he’d encouraged enough - to destroy his ability to trust any other officers.  Rafael Samuels was the only non-clone in his ground forces, and he was the one man in all of human space who could never defect to the other side.  Stark couldn’t imagine what the Marines would do to the greatest traitor in their history if he fell into their hands, but he knew the ex-Commandant had as much reason as he did to want the Marines destroyed.

Samuels was a temporary tool, anyway, far too untrustworthy to be allowed to survive the war.  He would serve his purpose, and then he would be eliminated.  Gavin Stark did not leave loose ends.

“Permission granted, general.”  Stark smiled grimly.  “By all means, let us begin the final act.”

He imagined a similar scene over Armstrong.  Erik Cain had managed to defend the Marine’s home base, somehow fighting the first invasion force to a standstill.  There was a stalemate there now, neither side strong enough to launch an offensive against the other.  But that was about to change.  The reinforcements should be landing on Armstrong any time now…and General Erik Cain would at last face his final battle.

Stark tried to keep his mind clear and focused, but the thought of Cain stirred a rage deep within him.  He hated the accursed Marine…detested him with a fiery passion only another psychopath truly could understand.  No one had interfered with his plans more disastrously than Erik Cain.  No one except for Augustus Garret.  And it had been Cain who rescued Garret from Stark’s clutches when the hated admiral had been his prisoner during the rebellions. 

The reserves he’d sent to Armstrong were more than enough to overwhelm the battered Marines defending the planet, but Stark wasn’t taking any chances.  Erik Cain was a tactician without equal, and the sooner he was gone the better.  He’d hoped to be rid of Cain already, a shot to the head or knife in the dark ridding him of his hated adversary.  But Alex still hadn’t done the job he sent her – twice – to do.  Fucking bitch, he thought, thinking bitterly of his former protégé.  Alex Linden was breathtakingly beautiful, and a sexual dynamo the likes of which he’d never experienced elsewhere.  But that’s no excuse for letting her get to you, he thought.  He’d never allowed a lay to get into his head…not until Alex.  He’d known he should have killed her when he had her captive…but instead he gave her another chance and sent her back to Armstrong to assassinate Cain.  It was a stupid, weak thing to do.  Stark wasn’t one who normally gave second chances, and it would be a long time before he gave another.

He would have the last laugh though.  He wasn’t about to let her get away with betraying him twice.  He had another assassin on Armstrong, one every bit as talented as sexy little Alex.  He already had his orders.  He wouldn’t falter as she had, distracted with emotional baggage and confused feelings.  He would carry out his orders to the letter, coldly, dispassionately.  He would assassinate Erik Cain.  And then he would kill Alex too.

For all you dead tree readers...

I sell a decent number of print books, so I know some of you prefer to read paperbacks rather than Kindle editions.  I just wanted to make sure all of you knew that all my paperbacks are enrolled in the Matchbook program at Amazon, so if you buy a paperback you can also get the electronic version for free.  So if you like paperbacks but have a kindle (or kindle app) too, grab both.  Or if you are mostly a kindle reader but want a print version, you can get both for the price of the print edition.

Crimson Worlds: War Stories Released (Crimson Worlds Prequels)

I'm happy to announce that we've managed to move up the release schedule and get Crimson Worlds: War Stories out early.  War Stories is a discounted collection of the three Crimson Worlds prequel novellas (rated 4.2, 4.4, and 5.0 on Amazon).

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

War Stories is also releasing in print today and should be available later today on Amazon.


Upcoming Releases:

Crimson Worlds VIII: Even Legends Die - late April

The Ten Thousand (Portal Worlds II) - June

For those of you who haven't read Gehenna Dawn (Portal Worlds I), it is available on all the retailers.