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.
No comments:
Post a Comment