The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (44 page)

Her people had been advancing toward the enemy capital…and the Citadel that rose ominously above it. Fortresses, especially above-ground ones, were a bit of an anomaly in modern war. In a battle of rockets and lasers and hyper-velocity railguns, no physical construction could stand up to a focused bombardment. But this battle was different. The Eagles were on Eldaron because there was a possibility that Erik Cain was being held prisoner inside those massive stone ramparts. And now Darius Cain was in there too, along with the Teams, the 200 best of the Eagles. Blasting the Citadel to rubble would kill them all. So the Eagles would have to take that fortress the old-fashioned way. But first, they had to get there.

She flipped to her unit’s frequency. “Prepare to move out. The entire line is advancing in five minutes.”

She muted the com and sighed softly. The flank attack had stalled the advance toward Eldaron City, and the fact that the enemy had possessed a large force of tanks had been a surprise. But the Black Regiment had landed, and the fighter wings had strafed the armored column mercilessly. The last report suggested the lead elements of the Black Regiment were chasing down the last dozen surviving tanks.

Now it was time to resume the advance. Calfort’s mind was in the same place every Eagle’s was. With the general. Darius Cain had landed before the main force, he and his 200 picked troops infiltrating the Citadel, searching for Erik Cain. It had sounded daring in the briefing, an adventure worthy of the Black Eagles. But now, in the mud and grit and blood of the battlefield, her viewpoint was changing. Cain’s plan looked risky, downright reckless. She saw the desperation in it now, the reality that the Eagles’ leader was walking directly—and deliberately—into a trap. She felt the tightness in her gut, the fear. For herself, of course, but also for Cain. Like virtually every other Eagle, she practically worshipped the man. Darius Cain was a warrior who could lead thousands of troops in battle but take the time to ask a soldier about some vague personal fact the two had discussed for a few seconds a year before. He was a true leader, and she felt lucky to follow him.

If he’s even still alive
.

The Citadel was jamming all communications in its immediate area. That wasn’t a surprise, but now she felt the true anxiety of not knowing anything about what was going on in there. And she knew Camerici—and even Erik Teller—were just as in the dark. They all had to trust in Darius Cain’s abilities, force themselves to believe that somehow, he and his two hundred warriors would manage to survive against all the forces of the enemy in their stronghold.

She glanced down at her rifle, checking it thoroughly. “Run a quick diagnostic,” she snapped to her AI. She knew her armor was fine, but it didn’t hurt to check again. Once they resume their advance, there wouldn’t be much time to spare.
Hopefully
. The first delay had cost them hours…time they could have used to move to General Cain’s relief. Whatever brilliant tactics Cain might employ, however fiercely the Teams fought, no one believed they could take the entire Citadel alone. The main forces in the field had to do it…and then link up with Cain and the Teams inside. And her platoon was dead in the center of the line moving on the enemy capital. Any more delays would only reduce the chance of reaching the objective while General Cain was still alive.

“Let’s move out,” she snapped into the com. “Fouks, Lewiston…I want you out five hundred meters. We should have some clear ground, but I don’t want either of you getting careless.” The two scouts tended to be aggressive to the point of craziness. It was typical, a personality trait common among those volunteering for recon training. But she didn’t care. They worked for her now, and she damned sure wasn’t going to let them get themselves killed for nothing.

She climbed up out of the foxhole and started forward. Her drones had kept tabs on the enemy. They had pulled back five klicks, to their prepared lines at the outskirts of the city.

That will be a bloody assault
, she thought grimly.
But then we’re in
.

And the Citadel will be next
.

*  *  *  *  *

“I want those emplacements ready in twenty minutes. No excuses.”

The lieutenant snapped to attention. Davidoff had walked up behind and taken him by surprise. “Yes, sir.” The voice was squeaky, cracking. It didn’t fill Davidoff with confidence. But he’d have to wait until they actually failed before he could tear them down.

General Matias Davidoff was walking along the defensive works his people were manning—and hastily repairing—his eyes darting from one strongpoint to the next. The position had been prepared in advance, built to be as strong as field fortifications could be. But Davidoff had been angry to find much of it half-completed or poorly designed. The Tyrant had long planned his great trap, but he hadn’t watched those around him carefully enough, the courtiers and sycophants who bowed and scraped in his presence then stole like bandits behind his back.

Davidoff wasn’t one of them. In fact, people like that sickened him, and he had long suffered, his career slowed by less capable officers who were more adept at playing political games. But while they had practiced how to work the system and schemed to gain advances and the largesse of the Tyrant, Davidoff had learned how to lead soldiers in battle. And now he had the Tyrant calling him every thirty minutes, asking what he needed and promising him whatever support he requested. Davidoff suspected the Tyrant would order the deaths of the very officers who had so insinuated themselves into his court if he but asked for it. But he had greater concerns now, first and foremost among them, keeping his army in the field.

Davidoff found himself disgusted with the Tyrant. Eldaron’s dictator had picked a fight with the Black Eagles of all people, but he hadn’t even paid personal attention to his own preparations, nor listened to reliable officers who gave him unpleasant reports about real problems. Davidoff knew that General Calman had tried ceaselessly to convince Eldaron’s dictator that his ministers were weakening the military with their graft. But the Tyrant had only seen growing numbers of troops, and half-finished works looked strong enough to his untrained eye.

Indeed, though General Calman was a bit more of a manipulator than Davidoff himself, the senior Eldari military commander was also a highly skilled officer. He and Davidoff had often discussed the problems…and the implications they held if a real war ever came. But both of their warnings fell on deaf ears.

Until now…when we’re supposed to fix twenty years of neglect immediately. And under fire
.
Fire from the Black fucking Eagles!

The Eagles had been lured to Eldaron, and their invasion of the planet was no surprise. Or at least it wasn’t supposed to be. The Tyrant had shared his plans with his most senior generals…and he spoke cheerfully of the rewards that would accompany victory. But the Eagles’ cyber-attack on the planet’s com lines and the perfectly-placed EMP bursts had thrown the defensive plans into turmoil, one grossly exaggerated by substandard equipment and poorly constructed works. Davidoff had been consigned to routine duties, far from the primary chain of command, when Calman had finally convinced the Tyrant to name the general field commander of the Citadel-area forces. Davidoff appreciated Calman’s confidence and support, but he also knew it was a booby prize of sorts—to face off against the most dreaded military force in Occupied Space, without even enough functioning rifles for his soldiers.

If Calman thought our forces had any chance, he’d have taken the command himself. Fuck
.

Davidoff realized most of the soldiers in the lines—and even the senior officers—didn’t know this fight had been provoked. They believed the Eagles had been hired by some other planet, brutal mercenaries sent to conquer their homeworld. They felt a wave of patriotism, an urge to defend friends and family. Davidoff knew it was all nonsense, but he had used it nevertheless. He whipped his men into a patriotic frenzy before sending them to battle, two men sharing a rifle.

Before you sent them to their deaths…

He had only one other advantage over the Eagles. Numbers. And he used them as well as he could, sacrificing thousands of soldiers in repeated attempts to slow the enemy advance. But his efforts had been in vain…until the mysterious armored force had emerged from its bunkers and hit the Eagles’ flank. Davidoff knew the Tyrant had off-world forces waiting in reserve, but their size and composition were mysteries to him. He’d asked half a dozen times for them to be committed, but each time he’d gotten a vague refusal. Then he’d finally realized. The Tyrant didn’t control them.

Who are they? And when the hell are they going to commit the rest of their strength?

Davidoff had lost almost ten thousand troops already, a third of his total strength. The tank attack had been a welcomed diversion, but it had been launched unsupported by infantry, and the Eagles had committed reserves and beaten it back. He’d gotten twelve hours’ respite out of the whole affair, but nothing more. Now the Eagle forces facing his line were advancing. The final struggle for Eldaron City would begin soon, perhaps in less than a day. And he had no doubt how that battle would end.

Unless those mysterious troops intervene. Soon
.

*  *  *  *  *

“Admiral, we’ve got something on the scanners. Looks like a ship coming through the Betalax-4 warp gate.” The tactical officer’s voice was firm, but it was clear there was urgency to his report.

Gaston Allegre’s head snapped around. The commander of the Eagles’ fleet was an old navy veteran, who had fought alongside Augustus Garret against the First Imperium and the Shadow Legions, and he relied as much on experience-driven intuition as he did on meticulous analysis. And he didn’t like the feel of this. Not one bit.

“Send out an advisory, Lieutenant. This system is declared off-limits to all traffic. Any vessels transiting in are advised to immediately decelerate and return to their origin point. Violators are subject to seizure or destruction.” The Black Eagles weren’t nearly as bloodthirsty as their reputation suggested, but Eldaron was a war zone, and Allegre planned to treat it as such.

“Yes, Admiral.” The communications officer forwarded the command. “All vessels and scanner buoys are broadcasting your warning, sir.” A pause…then: “More activity, Admiral. It looks like multiple ships coming through now.” Another pause. “And no response to our warning, sir. All contacts appear to be establishing a thrust vector toward Eldaron.”

Allegre frowned. His gut feeling had been right. This was trouble. “I want the scanner buoy data immediately, Lieutenant. On my screen.” He paused, taking an impatient breath and staring down at his display. “And feed it through the AI. I want a full analysis.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The tactical officer hunched over his workstation, his fingers moving across the controls, carrying out Allegre’s orders.

The Eagles’ naval commander was staring at his own screen, experienced eyes focusing on the raw data coming in. Numbers of ships, tonnages…energy outputs. It all painted an increasingly grim picture. He knew it before the AI confirmed his analysis. It was a battle fleet coming through, almost certainly.

And a big one
, he thought, watching as ships continued to transit.
And they can only be here for one reason
. His ships were already outnumbered, but enemy forces continued to pour into Eldaron’s system.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
We worried about a trap, but only on the ground. Whoever our enemy is, they thought bigger than we did
.
If the fleet is destroyed, the ground forces will be trapped…and they’ll run out of supplies before long.

In that moment, Allegre had no doubt the ground forces would encounter more unpleasant surprises. An enemy who could deploy a fleet like the one now assembling around the warp gate would have more waiting than a force of tanks. But that wasn’t his problem. Colonel Teller would handle whatever happened on the planet. Allegre’s duty was clear. The fleet was his responsibility…and it looked like he was facing one hell of a fight. Perhaps a hopeless one. But even so, he felt his combat reflexes come to life, and he stared ahead with the cold expression of the focused warrior.

Eagles die when the need arises, but they never go down without a fight
.

He turned toward the tactical officer. “Get me Colonel Teller. Now!”

*  *  *  *  *

Erik Teller stood still, staring out at the formation maneuvering in front of him but seeing nothing…nothing but his imagination’s depiction of an enemy warfleet advancing across the blackness of space. He’d known all along the Eagles had walked into a trap on Eldaron, but he hadn’t imagined it would come in the form of a spacefleet. Most colonies struggled to keep a few old rustbuckets in service…and he was unaware of any power that possessed a force strong enough to overwhelm the Eagles’ fleet.

Yet there it is
.

His eyes fixed on the display projected inside his helmet, the scanner readings Allegre had forwarded to him. There was no question…the Eagle fleet was already outgunned, and more ships were coming through the warp gate. Whatever chance Allegre’s people had, it depended on them adopting a strong battle formation. And they couldn’t do that in Eldaron orbit.

“Work out your battle plan, Gaston,” Teller said, his voice firm, decisive. “And get Colonel Kuragina’s people on alert. I want them down here before you break orbit.”

Teller had kept the last Eagle regiment uncommitted, ready to intervene anywhere there was a threat. But if the fleet was going to break orbit, he wanted those troops on the ground…where they were accessible if he needed them.

Instead of sitting on a bunch of ships about to go into a nearly hopeless battle
.

He didn’t like thinking of losing the fleet…and he realized that if the enemy destroyed the Eagles’ ships, there was little chance the rest of his forces would ever leave Eldaron. But it was pointless to keep the White Regiment onboard, where they could die in defeat but do nothing to aid victory. Better to have them on the ground, deployed and ready to fight. He was sure he would need them before long. He’d been confident his people could handle whatever trap the enemy sprung…until now. The emergence of the enemy battle fleet had made him rethink what they were up against, and he began to wonder if the Eagles had finally met their match.