The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (53 page)

Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

Darius knelt over his father, reaching down and shoving a tattered pack behind the wounded man’s head. The floor of the cell was cold and hard, but there was nothing he could do about that.

He’s probably been sleeping on this floor for seventeen years…

He felt a twinge of guilt for bringing his father back to the very place he’d been imprisoned for so long, but the detention area was the best spot for his people to make a stand.

A last stand, probably
.

He could hear the gunfire from outside the cell. The enemy had been attacking constantly, wave after wave of soldiers charging down the hallways. The constricted space favored his people and their defense, but he knew that wouldn’t last. The enemy could replace their losses, but each Eagle that fell was one less in fight.

And ammunition’s going to be a problem. Soon
.

Darius Cain wasn’t an optimist by nature, and he generally expected the worst from most situations. He knew his strength came from that darkness within him, that he owed his success to his almost paranoid preparedness. But he struggled now to keep a spark of hope alive. Defeat was one thing, but the thought of finding his father only to die with him here was more than he could bear.

He realized now that he’d never really anticipated finding his father alive on Eldaron, that he’d only come because he couldn’t take the slightest chance that Erik Cain was alive and remained in captivity. And to punish the Eldari for any role they’d had in his father’s death. But now he marveled at the irony of discovering his father alive, of Alcabedo’s shot saving him at the last second…only to be cornered in the very prison that had held Erik Cain for so many years. Where he would now likely die, with his son and the two hundred Black Eagles of the Teams.

He knew Teller and the Eagles would have taken the Citadel by now if the operation had gone remotely according to plan. The jamming around the fortress was too intense for any communications to penetrate, and he’d had no word at all, not since his people had landed days before. For all he knew, the rest of the Eagles had been wiped out, victims of a trap that had proven to be too much, despite their preparedness. But he tried not to think of that. The guilt he would feel for getting all his people killed was unimaginable. If by some miracle he survived, he would mourn his dead Eagles, and torture himself for his role in their demise. But he knew he was far likelier to join them in death…probably a few meters from where he now stood.

He looked down at his father, feeling a bit of self-hatred for hardly recognizing him. His face was thin, and his skin was covered with lesions and sores. He was mostly unconscious, occasionally opening his eyes for a few seconds before slipping back into sleep. Darius had extended his hand several times, feeling the urge to touch his father, to put a warm hand against his cheek. But each time he remembered he was in full armor, and he stopped himself. His presence, his words…they would have to do for now.

Ernesto Alcabedo was standing about a meter away, watching over Darius even though they were in the cell, behind the main combat areas. He had stayed respectfully silent, allowing Darius some private time with his father, but now he turned and looked over.

“General, we’ve got more wounded coming.”

Darius nodded. “Let’s get them all in here. It’s the safest place we’ve got.” He waved toward the other side of the room where Clive had set up a makeshift aid station. There were about two dozen casualties lined up, but Darius knew there were a lot more of his people wounded.

“Yes, sir,” Alcabedo replied. Then: “General, our people are requesting permission to pull back to the corridor outside. They’ve opened up the cells all along the hall and positioned snipers in each one.”

“Yes,” Darius said softly. “Do it.”

We’re being driven back steadily.
The end begins
…

Cain felt a thought go through his mind, quickly hardening to resolution. I can’t stay here, back from the fight. Not now. “I’m going up there, Ernesto.” Cain looked down at Erik Cain’s unconscious form for a second before rising to his feet.

“What about your father, sir?” There was tension in the captain’s voice. Darius knew it was fear. Alcabedo wasn’t afraid for himself, at least no more than any man facing a deadly fight would be. But the officer had made himself responsible for the safety of the Black Eagles’ commander, and Darius knew his bodyguard was much happier with him right where he was. He understood, but he wasn’t a man who could stay back while others did the fighting. He knew it would be hard on his aide, especially since he was about to ask Alcabedo to stay behind. But no one had ever said being a Black Eagle was easy.

“My father would be the first to understand, Ernesto. He went to war wherever the bugle called. I can do nothing less.” Darius tried to moderate his tone. He didn’t need Alcabedo thinking he was on his way to find a good death…though he knew in his heart that is exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t going to commit suicide…but he had no intention of surviving if his Eagles all died.

“What about your leg, sir? And your arm? You are wounded.” There was growing desperation in the aide’s voice.

“What about them, Ernesto. We’ve both had worse.” He stood and put his hand on Alcabedo’s armored shoulder. “I must ask something of you...and it will be difficult for you to do.”

“Anything, General.” Alcabedo’s voice was firm, but Darius could hear the emotion too.

“I want you to stay here.”

“General…”

“Listen to me, Ernesto. My place is with the men and women fighting. They deserve to see me there with them. They would in any battle, but this time they are only here because of my need. I owe it to them all, but I can only leave here if someone I trust remains behind.” Darius paused, and his own voice began to crack slightly. “My father…” A long pause. “If they recapture him, they could…they could…”

Alcabedo stood stone still, staring at Darius. “He cannot fall back into their hands,” the captain said simply.

“No…he cannot.” Darius took a deep breath and fought to regain his focus. “Can I count on you, Ernesto…to do what must be done when all has come to the end?”

Alcabedo was silent for a few seconds. Darius understood the enormity of what he was asking, all the more for his own inability to say it in clear terms. He was asking his officer to kill his father, the great Marine hero…to put a bullet in the head of the tortured, wounded man lying on the floor. It would be an inconceivable act, yet both knew it would be even more unforgivable to let Erik Cain fall back into Eldari hands.

“Yes, General,” Alcabedo rasped. It was clear he was putting all the strength he had into his answer. “I will do what you ask.”

Darius exhaled hard. “Thank you, my friend. For this…and for your years of loyalty.” He paused, staring at Alcabedo for a few seconds before his eyes moved once more to the figure stretched out on the floor.

I’m sorry, Father. I tried…and I beg you forgive me—us—but I will not let these monsters take you back. If I cannot bring you freedom, I will at least give you rest
…

He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he was grateful for the visor that hid his face. He nodded his head once, and he turned away and walked toward the exit.

*  *  *  *  *

“Admiral Garret…I don’t know what to say.” He understood what was happening, but he still struggled to reconcile with it. Augustus Garret was a legend, almost like a character out of mythology. He’d fought in every one of mankind’s wars for eighty years…and he’d emerged victorious in all of them. But Teller still couldn’t understand how he had come to Eldaron. It didn’t make any sense. “But…how?” he asked, his voice halting.

“How did I end up here? Well, I suppose that is an odd sequence of events, one that will have to wait until we have more time to talk. For now, you can thank your general’s brother. I was on Armstrong when he arrived there.”

“Elias? Elias is involved in this too?” His thoughts raced back. He and Darius and Elias had spent their childhoods together on Atlantia…until the Second Incursion destroyed their peaceful and happy lives. Neither Teller’s father nor Erik Cain had returned from that war, and their sons had been left to deal with the losses the best they could. The pain had driven a wedge between Darius and Elias…and Teller had always been closest to Darius. He’d never shared the strange animosity that had developed between the brothers, but when Darius left Atlantia, Erik had gone with him…and he hadn’t seen Elias Cain since.

“Yes, he is the reason we are here. He came to Armstrong from the Nest looking for reinforcements. He feared you had walked into a trap. And he brought word that Erik Cain might still be alive and a prisoner on Eldaron. Once the Marines heard that there was no holding them back.”

Teller couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt almost like he was punch drunk. “From the Nest?” he asked quizzically. “He was at the Nest?”

“Yes…apparently right after you left.”

Teller stood silently for a moment, trying to reconcile everything he was hearing. “And your fleet?” he finally asked.

“The Armstrong squadrons,” Garret replied. “The remainder of my old fleet, maintained by the Corps.”

Teller was distracted by the sounds of incoming communications all around him, reports from units across the battlefield. Camerici and her people were handling it all, struggling to apportion the last of the supplies to the units that needed them most.

He turned and looked around the headquarters, at the desperate efforts of his staff, and he thought about the carnage up on the battle lines. His people were fighting and dying, even now, despite the fact that the fleet had returned, along with its unlikely reinforcements. His new excitement began to deflate. He was thrilled to find that Allegre and most of the Eagle ships had survived, and astonished and grateful that Garret had come to help. But it hadn’t changed the situation on the ground. Not really.

His people were still under attack…and it was going to take a miracle for them to beat back this latest onslaught. He could see the maps on the portable displays. There were waves of enemy troops surging forward…and he already had two spots where they were threatening to break through. His people had inflicted horrifying losses on the attackers, but they kept coming no matter what.

“Admiral Garret…and Admiral Allegre…we’re in a world of shit down here. We could use whatever support you can manage.”

“Already done, Colonel. Admiral Allegre has downloaded the scanning data from the satellites. We believe we have identified the location of all of the enemy bases. We will be commencing orbital bombardment in approximately three minutes. Vaporizing their logistical centers should shake them up a bit.”

Teller felt a rush of excitement. “That will be most helpful, Admiral.”

“And Major Darryk’s birds are launching too.” A different voice. Allegre. “They should be conducting close support runs in less than twenty minutes.”

Teller sighed hard.
Fighter runs…maybe we’ll get through this after all
.
But those birds are going to suffer from the AA…

“Colonel, we’re picking up landing craft, over a hundred of them…coming down just behind the enemy positions.” Camerici’s voice, interjecting onto his com line.

Teller froze.

Enemy reinforcements? Could there be surviving enemy ships up there too
?

“Oh yes, Colonel,” Garret said calmly. “That is General Gilson. She’s on the way down now…with four battalions of Marines.”

*  *  *  *  *

Catherine Gilson stepped out of the ten-man Liggett lander. The field behind her was covered with the strange craft. The Liggetts looked like something a child might have constructed from an erector set, a spidery framework of hyper-steel with ten small cradles for armored Marines. There was no hull, no pressurized interior, not even a cockpit. The craft were robot-controlled and the occupants rode outside, their armor covered in heat-resistant foam but otherwise in the open as they launched from orbiting spaceships.

The landers were pitted and scarred by the time they hit ground, but that was of no concern. They were built for a one way trip, to get assaulting Marines to the surface as quickly as possible. Gilson took a few steps forward, watching approvingly as her people ejected from their landing craft and quickly formed up. They were Marines, and she expected nothing less, but she also knew the Corps hadn’t conducted a combat landing in fifteen years. More than half the men and women out there had never entered a hostile planet’s atmosphere, never gone into a large battle. For all the vaunted training and the strong leadership she knew permeated the Corps, a lot of her people were about to get their baptism of fire.

I wish I had a division or two of the old veterans…

Her mind was on the men and women she had led decades before, the Marines who had won the Third Frontier War for the Alliance and then driven the First Imperium out of human space. They were gone now, most of them, lost in the brutal fighting that had raged almost uninterrupted for twenty-five years.

The old Corps had been the greatest fighting force every assembled, at least as far as she was concerned. Elias Cain had led them then, and the men and women who had fought under the Marine flag were some of the finest she’d ever known…warriors like Darius Jax, John Teller…Erik Cain.

Is he really alive? Is it possible?

Catherine Gilson had fought alongside Cain for decades, and the two had inherited command of the Corps when Elias Holm was killed. Cain had stepped aside with the coming of peace, ceded the top command to her…only to come back and fight in the Second Incursion. And, as had been widely believed, to die in that terrible conflict. Only now, it appeared, he might have survived after all.

Gilson understood why Sarah had slipped away without a word. She had known that Gilson would have taken the Corps to Eldaron immediately, that she would have committed everything to rescuing its lost general. But as much as Sarah loved Erik Cain, she would have known that the Corps had no chance alone. Its days of great power were behind it, and all that remained was a small force, determined to keep the spark of excellence alive, but without the numbers to project the power to conquer a world.