MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (10 page)

He activated the com unit.  “Antonia, cancel my order for Vandeveer’s people.  They are to remain embarked and on alert for rapid deployment.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied crisply.

I need to keep something up my sleeve.  At least until I know what the hell is going on.

He stared out across the plateau again. 
What are you planning, Ling?  What are you hiding out there?

*        *        *        *        *

“They are just sitting there!”  General Ling Jin stared at the display, his frustration clear in his posture.  The commander of the Gold Spears was angry, frustrated that Darius Cain had so far refused to fall into trap he’d so carefully set for him. 

“General Cain is a cautious man, General.”  Colonel Jiang Li stood two meters behind Ling, watching the general nervously.  Ling was a gifted tactician, but he was prone to outbursts of anger, and his senior officers tended to handle him with considerable care.

“He is my curse!”  Ling turned abruptly, staring at Jiang.  “There is no valid tactical reason for him not to advance.  None!”  When he was upset, Ling tended to spit when he spoke, and Jiang stood firm, ignoring the blast of saliva that came his way.  “Yet he just sits there on that ridge!”

Jiang had been less confident that Cain would barge right into the trap.  It was true, every tactical indication suggested it was the right move, but it was no secret that Cain was a careful man—and a military genius no one on the Spears’ command staff could match.  Not that Jiang wasn’t about to admit that in from of Ling.

“We will have to be patient, General Ling.”  The voice came from across the room.  The man walking toward Ling was not one of the Spears.  He was tall, with sandy brown hair and a muscular build.  He was clad in a brown uniform, with a pair of black boots and a rank insignia on his collar that Ling had never seen before.  “General Cain may yet take the bait.”

Ling turned to face his guest.  No, he reminded himself, ally.  The whole thing was still difficult to accept.  He couldn’t argue with the discipline and skill of the troops his supposed new friend had brought with him, nor the fact that they presented him with his only real chance of destroying Darius Cain and his Black Eagles.  But it still nagged at him.  Where did Diomedes come from?  How did such a force exist without the Spears knowing anything about it?

“That is true, General Diomedes, but have you considered what we will do if he does not?”  Ling had been skeptical when Diomedes had first contacted him, but the mysterious commander had followed through on every promise.  Not only did he bring 3,000 of his own superbly-equipped troops to Lysandria, but Ling suspected the sudden and mysterious ability of the locals to pay the Gold Spears’ price had something to do with this new connection.  There was clearly a significant power behind all of this, one that didn’t seem to have any more good will toward the Eagles than he did. 
The enemy of my enemy…

“If we are unable to entice General Cain into making a mistake, we will have little choice but to attack his forces where they are.”  The mysterious general spoke calmly, his tone betraying almost no emotion at all.

“But can we defeat the Black Eagles if we attack them on ground of their own choosing?”  Ling’s tone was edgy, showing signs of strain.

Diomedes returned Ling’s gaze.  “The Black Eagles are the most professional and the deadliest military unit in Occupied Space, General Ling.  It is unlikely we will be able to defeat them in any scenario.”  He stared at Ling without an ounce of emotion on his face, as if he was reading from a script.

Ling went pale.  “If you don’t believe we can defeat the Eagles, why did you bring your forces to Lysandria?”

“It is my mission to inflict as much damage on the Black Eagles as possible.”

“But how do you plan to get off Lysandria then?”  Ling was confused, and he could feel the sweat pooling behind his neck.

“I do not plan to leave Lysandria, General Ling.  My forces will fight until they are destroyed.  And, as the Eagles have sworn not to take any of your people prisoner, you have little choice but to do the same.  We will severely damage the Eagles, costing them soldiers it will take years to replace.”

“I did not lead my soldiers here just to see them all slaughtered!”  Ling’s expression was a mix of fear and rage.

“No, I suspect your motivations were quite different, though your analysis of the situation was significantly flawed.  You could not have reasonably determined that your forces could destroy the Black Eagles, not without allowing your own emotions and pride to supersede facts.  Even my forces are inadequate to increase the odds of total victory in a fight to the finish above a few percentage points.”  He stared at Ling with a deadpan expression on his face.  “In all likelihood, we will die here…you, me, and all of our soldiers.  But we will kill many Black Eagles before we do.”  And still, there wasn’t a trace of emotion in his voice.

*        *        *        *        *

“They’re coming in again, General.”  Camerici turned to face Cain.  “This is the third wave, sir, and it’s at least 2,000 strong.”

Cain nodded.  He had smelled a trap and ordered his troops to stand fast and hold their positions.   Now his fears had been confirmed.  Wave after wave of enemy troops were assaulting him now, all from hidden positions beyond the ridge.  If he’d allowed Kuragina’s people to advance when they’d wanted to, they’d have been surrounded.  It would have been a bloodbath.

He stared at the display.  It was bad enough now.  He had over 250 dead already, and at least that many wounded.  It had been a long time since the Eagles had seen such a desperate fight, and they were acquitting themselves brilliantly.  Estimating enemy losses in the middle of a battle was always a bit tricky, but he was sure his people had inflicted at least 3,000 casualties.  They had the benefit of defending in most places, but still, that was a differential of six to one—and against supremely well-equipped forces.

All the fighting so far had been done by the Spears and their mysterious allies.  The Lysandrian troops were woefully ill-equipped for the high tech war now going on, and they had remained in their forts and entrenchments around the capital city.  Cain had sent a company to screen them, but he’d ordered them left alone as long as they stayed in place.  The other forces he was facing were far more dangerous, and he wanted them neutralized before he even worried about seizing the planetary objectives.  Once the Spears and their mysterious allies were destroyed, taking the Lysandrian cities would be child’s play.

He was watching transmissions from some of the forward units, video of enemy formations as they attacked.  He picked off the Gold Spears immediately.  Their dark gray armor was immediately recognizable.  But there were other forces mixed in with them, troops he’d never seen before.  Their suits were dark brown, and based on his initial observations, they were superior to those worn by Ling’s men.  His best guess was they weren’t quite on par with his own peoples’ Mark VIII’s, but they looked pretty close.

Who are these guys?
  Cain thought he knew every mercenary company in Occupied Space, especially forces as large and well-equipped as this one. 
Why don’t I have any intel on them?

“Launch a double spread of snooper drones.  I want to know where these troops are coming from.  They’ve got a base out there somewhere, more than one maybe, and I want coordinates.”

“Yes, sir.”  Camerici relayed Cain’s orders.  “Sir, I’ve got Colonel Kuragina for you.”

“Put her through, Lieutenant.”

“General, my people could use some backup.  Any chance you could send some of Vandeveer’s people down?”

Cain frowned.  He hated turning a deaf ear to aid requests from his officers.  And he knew for sure if Cyn Kuragina was calling him for help her people had been damned near overrun.  But he still had no idea how large a force he was facing.  He knew the strength of the Gold Spears—he’d have bet a hundred credits he knew their OB better than Ling did.  But these new troops were a complete mystery.

“Sorry, Colonel, but I need to keep those reserves fresh until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.  You’re just going to have to hold on somehow, Cyn.”  He paused.  “I’m sending you a reserve company…and half a dozen Special Action Teams.  But use them carefully, because it’s all I’ve got to give you until we get some better intel.”

“Thanks, sir.  We’ll manage somehow.  Kuragina out.”

Cain stared at the display, but he wasn’t seeing anything.  It had been a long time since so many of his troops were in such trouble.  He trained them as ruthlessly as he did so they were always tougher than their opponents—so that victory was all but assured when they took the field.  They were always most experienced, the best equipped.  And they had the best intel too.  But now he was standing around headquarters with no fucking clue what he was facing, and his troops were fighting strange enemies almost as well-trained and equipped as they were.  He could feel the frustration building, the anger.

“Camerici, I want those snoopers launched, NOW!”

*        *        *        *        *

“Perretti, Horn…stay the fuck down.  You want those pretty heads blown off?  If I have to tell you again, I’m gonna shoot ‘em off myself so you remember next time.”  Joseph “Bull” Trent was widely regarded as the toughest, most nasty-assed platoon sergeant in the Black Eagles.  The stories about him were legion, and he did nothing to discourage them.  By the time they’d reached the third or fourth retelling, he’d grown ten centimeter claws, and he spit fire.  It was only a moderate exaggeration.

“Sorry, Sarge.  Things are getting pretty damned hot around here.  The Spears are a joke as usual.  The shitheads were always overrated, but these guys in the brown suits are tough.”  Tony Perretti was one of those perennial privates, a longtime veteran and a hard-ass without compare.  But he hated responsibility, and he didn’t want to be in charge of anybody but himself—and he was a master of getting into enough petty trouble to get busted back down every time he earned a second stripe.  It was a miracle Cain had never bounced him out of the Eagles—and a testament to his skills as a soldier too. 

“No shit, Perretti.  And there’s a lot of ‘em too.  So pay fucking attention to what you’re doing.  I need ya at your best right now.  Got it?”  Bull’s voice always had a caustic edge, but right then it sounded like something that could eat through metal.

“Yeah, Sarge, I got it.”  Tony Perretti was more than a match for most sergeants, but not Bull Trent, and his tone was almost pliant.  There was a short pause then:  “Sarge, I think we got another wave comin’ on.”

“I see it, Perretti.”  Bull was staring at the inside of his visor, watching a flood of new contacts pour onto the display.  “And it looks like a big one.” 
Fuck.  If was sittin’ in HQ with the general’s stars on my shoulder, I’d bet that was the big push
.
  And if I’m right, we don’t have enough to stop it.

“Perretti, I need you and Horn to move forward.  Scout the area and see if you can get a good read on where these guys are comin’ from.  They got a secret base out there someplace, and if we can get the coordinates to HQ, the general can give it to ‘em.  Straight up the ass.”

“We’re on it, Sarge.”

“And Perretti…be careful.  I want scouting info, not two dead assholes out there.”

“I’m always careful, Sarge.”

Bull sighed. 
Careful?
  He had to hold back a caustic laugh.  Perretti was just about the craziest son of a bitch he knew.

*        *        *        *        *

Diomedes climbed the ladder to the surface.  There were several dozen of the access tubes, and they were all filled with his soldiers.  The underground base had been hastily constructed, but it had served its purpose well.  But now it was time for the final push, and his place was on the surface with his forces.  He knew victory was highly improbable, that they were all likely doomed.  But that didn’t matter.  By the time the fighting was over on Lysandria, he would be dead, along with every one of his soldiers.  He thought about that in a detached way, without fear, without even real regret.

Diomedes had memories of his past, but they were scattered, hazy, often unrelated to each other.  Images of wandering the wasteland, scavenging for food.  Of blasted, shattered buildings and poisoned waterways covered with the bloated corpses of dead fish.  He remembered vague feelings—hunger, sickness, fear, though he didn’t fully understand them.  His earliest clear recollections were of his training, the months of drill and practice that had made him a soldier—and later an officer—in the Omega Force.  And he remembered the long conditioning sessions, endless, almost brutal.  On a level he couldn’t entirely comprehend, he knew the conditioning had changed his persona, molded his emotions and his beliefs.  But he didn’t care.  It had made him what he was, a part of the greater whole, and there was nothing more gratifying than to sacrifice oneself to the Plan.  Anything that helped him to realize that was good, worth losing parts of who he had been.