The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (52 page)

Allegre felt strength flowing into his arms and legs, a hot fury driving away the cold numbness of defeat. The enemy fleet was still strong, and the fight would be a hard one. But now he had reinforcements. And he had Augustus Garret.

“I agree completely,” Allegre answered, the determination thick in his tone.

Oh no, the battle wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 36

The Citadel

Planet Eldaron

Denebola System

Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

Darius felt as if time had slowed. His eyes were locked on the soldier with the pistol. Was he just another enemy soldier, responding to his attack? For an instant he thought so. But then he felt a coldness, a realization. The man was here to kill the gray-haired patient. He had no evidence, no reason for certainty, but he knew…somehow he just knew, and he’d never been surer of anything in his life.

Every muscle in his body tensed, an almost electric feeling energizing him, driving his reactions. He had no time for thought, for considering facts, but he didn’t have to. He realized instantly…if the Eldari had sent someone to kill that patient, now, in the middle of all that was happening it could mean only one thing…

Father
.

His mind wanted to explode, wild thoughts streaming in every direction. But, somehow, the discipline that had always guided him held on, maintained his focus. He had to act, now. Or he would watch his father die ten meters in front of him.

He saw the man moving toward the bed, his arm rising as he did, bringing the pistol to bear. Darius was still moving forward. It wasn’t the best situation for an aimed shot, but he didn’t have time to stop. “Single shot,” he snapped to the AI as he raised his rifle.

He took a breath and held it as his targeting sight moved over the enemy soldier.

He felt a rush move through him. He was going to make it…he was going to get his shot off first…

Then he heard the sound, an explosion, and even as his finger began to press down on the trigger, it hit him. A small shard of metal, slamming into his ankle. It was a minor wound, indeed, it had barely pierced his armor. But it pushed him forward, and his shot went wide. He was stumbling, and his visor shifted. He saw the floor coming up at him, and instincts kicked in, his body rolling to the side to cushion the impact.

He felt a coldness inside him, and he retched, tasting acidy bile in his mouth.
No
, he thought, a wave of despair coming over him from deep in his mind. He had missed. And that meant…

He whipped around, pushing himself up to his feet. There were waves of pain from the wounded ankle, but he ignored them, indeed, he was hardly aware of them. He was determined to get up, to kill the soldier with the gun. He knew he was too late, but he had to try. Still, he heard the same thing in his mind.
I’m sorry, father…I’m so sorry…

Then his eyes focused on the cot, the man still lying there. The wall behind was covered in blood, fresh streams of droplets working their way down from a large circular stain. The soldier was gone…no, not gone. Darius saw his feet on the ground, visible behind the cot.

But I missed, I know I missed
. And then he snapped his head around and saw the armored figure standing right behind him. Ernesto Alcabedo, his rifle still aiming where he had fired the deadly shot.

The shock hit Darius like a thunderbolt. Alcabedo had killed the enemy soldier…and saved the man in the cot. He stood there stunned for what could only have been an instant, though it stretched out for him, time almost at a standstill while he realized what had just happened. He was finally pulled from his thoughts by the sound on the com, the same words again and again. “General, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ernesto,” he replied, shaking off the surprise. “Nice shot!”

He moved forward. He knew it was careless, and he could see Alcabedo coming up on his side, rifle out, looking for enemies. Discipline, even the experienced of a dozen battlefields, had its limits. And Darius Cain couldn’t wait. He
had
to know. Now.

He pushed forward toward the cot, throwing a stack of equipment out of his way as he did. He stopped at the edge of the bed, and he looked down at the man lying there. His face was drawn, thin from malnutrition. There were scars, the marks of what must have been hundreds of beatings.

He lay under a thin white sheet, and Darius could see the wretched form below. There were bandages in half a dozen places, crusty with dried blood. The captive soldier had said the prisoner been shot...and the man lying in the bed had indeed been shot.

Darius had come lightyears, attacked an entire world to determine if his father was still alive. And now as he stared down at the broken man on the cot, he wasn’t sure. Of all the things he’d expected, the traps and the resistance of his enemies, the brutal struggle to break into the heart of the Citadel, he’d been sure he would recognize his father. But the man lying before him was so changed, so withered by ill treatment…

Darius felt a wave of rage, at the way the man had obviously been abused…and at himself.
How could you not know your own father…

Then the prisoner opened his eyes. They were cloudy, filmy, caked with a dried crust…but even through all of that, Darius could see the piercing blue. Eyes like his, like Elias’. Eyes like a Cain.

He felt his legs go weak, and he struggled to control himself, to hold back the tears, the avalanche of emotions that struggled to come forth.

“Father,” he said softly, looking down at the man. “Father it is me. Darius. I’ve come to get you out of here. To take you home.”

The man in the cot turned his head slowly, looking up at the armored figure staring over him. There was disorientation in his glance, and fear. But Darius could see recognition too. It was faint, confused…but it was there. “Marines?” he rasped, his tortured voice barely audible.

Darius was confused for an instant, but then he realized. He was fully armored…and his father would equate that with Marines.

“Open helmet,” he said to the AI. An instant later it retracted, and he felt the outside air. It was cooler than the perfectly climate controlled environment of his fighting suit, and the scent of alcohol was heavy. As was the smell of decay, of death.

“Father, it is Darius, your son.” He looked down into the blue eyes, saw the uncertainty, the fear. He knew this was his father, that it was Erik Cain lying there. But he also understood the torment, the unimaginable hell he had been through…a prisoner for seventeen years, tortured, isolated. O
f course he doesn’t recognize you…you were fifteen when he left
. But he still felt a pang of hurt. He was a feared soldier, a warrior prince, but now all he wanted was for the broken man in the cot to know who he was.

“Erik…Cain…” The man was forcing out the words, and it was clear each syllable was an effort, a painful one. “I…am…Erik…Cain…”

Darius wanted to reach out, to touch his father’s face, but his hands were armored…his whole body was wrapped in ten tons of osmium-iridium alloy. He felt confusion, almost panic. He didn’t know what to do. He could hear the sounds of battle around him, but he had ignored it all. He was vaguely aware of Alcabedo next to him.

Standing guard
.

But he was lost…

“Dar…i…us...”

He stared at the man, at his father, and a single tear overcame his efforts to restrain it, rolling slowly down his cheek. “Yes,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Yes, father…it is Darius.” He gasped for a breath, still fighting to retain his composure. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Home…” the man rasped. “Yes…home…” Then he turned his head and looked right up at Darius. “Sar…ah?”

“Yes, father…mother is fine. I am going to take you home…to mother.”

“Home,” Erik said. His thin lips morphed into a weak, quivering smile. “Sarah.”

“Yes, father. Home. Mother.”

Darius looked around the room. His people had secured the area, but there was fighting at every approach to the infirmary.

“General…” It was Alcabedo. “We have to get out of here. It’s too open, too many approaches.”

Darius felt himself return to reality. The joy at finding his father alive was tempered by the danger. They weren’t out of trouble yet, not by a long shot. He knew Erik Cain could still die on Eldaron…along with all the Black Eagles.

“Back to the prison, Ernesto. We can set up a stronger position there.”

He leaned down and slipped his arm under his father’s frail form. Erik shied away from the touch and cried out softly, but Darius scooped him up anyway. He tried to be gentle…as gentle as two large metallic arms could be, but he held his father firmly. They had to get out of here. Immediately.

*  *  *  *  *

Erik Teller stared at the data on the portable display. It was the third time he’d gone over it, and it was telling him the same thing. “Fuck,” he muttered softly.

His people had been fighting the new enemy for three days, facing assault after assault. He’d been to every spot on the battlefield, helped pick each position and design each section of fieldworks. He’d been awake for over a week without a break, and he’d overridden his AI’s warnings and pumped three times the safe dosage of stims into his bloodstream.

He had shifted reserves back and forth, meeting each attack with enough strength to beat it back. But now the enemy had all their forces in place. And unless he was reading the map wrong—and he sincerely doubted that—his people were about to be attacked on every front, fresh assaults coming in all along his surrounded position.

Erik knew his people had taken out close to ten thousand of the new enemy…and nearly twice that many Eldari levies. But they had lost heavily as well, and most of his units were down to half strength or less. He’d burned the last of his drones on the most recent scanning sweep, and the data was sobering.

Twenty-thousand
, he thought grimly.
They’ve got twenty-thousand in the line, even after all we killed…all powered infantry like us. And another seven thousand Eldari troops in the trenches in front of the city
.

He was proud of the Eagles. They had fought as well as they ever had, as well as
any
soldiers ever had. But there was a limit, and Teller feared he was looking at it now.

I’m sorry, Darius. Are you even still alive in there somehow? Have you been able to hold out in some remote corner, you and the survivors of the Teams? Or have they run you all down, wiped you out? Did you die wondering where we were? Why we didn’t take the Citadel, why we didn’t come to your aid?

Teller just shook his head. He’d imagined what defeat would feel like, wondered how he would face death when it came for him.

And now you will see, you will understand what all those who have fallen to your arms felt, feel the coldness of failure and destruction
.

“But if we must die,” he said to himself, “we will die well.” He felt his mind clear, the uncertainty fading away. The Eagles’ last battle would not be marred by doubts and fears. He owed that much to Darius. And the Eagles. And himself.

“Activate corps-wide com,” he snapped at his AI.

“Activated,” came the response.

“Attention all Black Eagles. The enemy is about to attack us all across the line. I don’t need to tell any of you how outnumbered we are. How low on supplies and ordnance. I don’t need to tell you we face many thousands of enemies, fully-armored and powered like us. No. None of this matters. None of it will affect our actions in the coming battles.” He paused, pushing back an errant thought about what Darius would have said in this situation.

“No, I need only say one thing to you, and I know with certainty that each of you will truly, deeply understand the meaning. You are Black Eagles, every one of you. And that is all you need to know, all you must think about as we enter this fight.” Another pause. “Stand with me, my brothers and sisters, fight by my side as you have so many times before. And remember…Black Eagles never yield.”

He cut the com line, and his eyes dropped to the display. There were great thick lines on it, masses of enemy troops so dense the individual icons were not recognizable.

“Colonel!” Camerici’s voice…excited, almost hysterical. He’d never heard her like that.

“Yes, Captain?”

“We have incoming communications, sir. It’s Admiral Allegre, Colonel.”

“Admiral,” Teller said, finding it difficult to keep a flash of excitement out of his voice. “It is good to hear from you. We’d almost given up hope.”

“It was a tough fight, Colonel.” A short pause. “I’m afraid
Eagle Four
and
Eagle Six
were destroyed…”

“We feared you were all lost, Admiral. Considering what we’ve encountered down here, I imagined the enemy fleet was overwhelming in strength.”

“It was, Colonel. We were on the brink of destruction.”

“So what happened, Admiral? How did you turn the battle around?”

“We had a little help.”

Teller shook his head. “I don’t understand, Admiral. Help?”

“Yes, sir. We got reinforcements at the last moment.”

Teller still didn’t understand. “Reinforcements? Who reinforced you?”

“I did, Colonel Teller.” The voice was low-pitched, serious but pleasant in tone as well. “I knew your father, Colonel. Quite well. An extraordinary man, and a good friend too. And I know you as well, though I’m afraid you were a young boy the last time I saw you.”

Teller listened, focusing on the voice, the familiarity of it.
No
, he thought…
it’s not possible…

“I’m Augustus Garret, Erik,” the voice said gently, even as Teller realized it himself.

Augustus Garret? How? Is it even possible
?

Chapter 37

The Citadel

Planet Eldaron

Denebola System