Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (42 page)

“Yes, sir.” Cortez spun around, relaying the command to the other ships with every bit of the intensity Compton had used. The admiral wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a hint of a smile on his aide’s lips too.

The shuttles had made two trips, bringing back most of the grain as well as the scientists and some of the Marines. But Colonel Preston and Major Frasier were still down there, with almost a thousand of their people. And Hieronymus Cutter. For some reason Cutter had refused to come up with the rest of the science teams. He had no idea why, but he’d been told Cutter had been acting strangely ever since coming back from the enemy ruins. He wondered if the gifted scientist had finally lost whatever it was that kept his brilliant but high-strung mind functioning. Compton tried to imagine how Cutter, an academic used to working in a laboratory, had adapted to the danger and hardship the expedition had encountered beneath the ruins. He decided he wouldn’t be surprised if it had proven to be too much for Cutter…and he just hoped that once the scientist was back on
Midway
, he’d recover. Compton considered Cutter a friend, and he was worried about him. But even more crucially, he knew the fleet needed Cutter at his worktable, deciphering the technology of the First Imperium.

“Commander, get me a direct line to Colonel Preston.”

“Yes, sir.” A few seconds later. “I have the Colonel for you, Admiral.”

“Colonel, we’ve got enemy ships entering the system. I’m sending the shuttles back…I want you to get your people on them as quickly as possible. Forget the shelters, equipment…everything but people. You understand?”

“Yes, Admiral.” Preston’s voice sounded harried, distracted. And there was something in the background. Shouts and distant rumblings. Explosions.”

“What’s going on down there, James?”

“The battle in the city is over, sir. And the First Imperium survivors are attacking the camp. I don’t know how we’re going to evac, sir.”

Compton felt his hands clench slowly into fists. He’d known their good luck would prove to be ephemeral, but the lack of surprise didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off. “Just do it, James. Those shuttles are coming down no matter what…and your Marines are getting off that rock. You get me?”

“Yes, Admiral.” Preston’s tone was respectful, but it was also full of doubt.

“And Colonel…I want Doctor Cutter on the first shuttle to lift off. I don’t care if an armored Marine has to carry him kicking and screaming the whole way.”

“Yes, sir. Doctor Cutter says he is ready to leave, sir. He was…waiting for something.”

“Did he get it, whatever it was?”

“Yes, sir. He got it.”

“Very well, Colonel. Attend to your situation.” Preston hadn’t offered any details about what Cutter had been waiting for…and he didn’t have time to grill the harried Marine. Not while the forces on the ground were under attack…and enemy ships were inbound toward the fleet. If whatever slim chance they had was to prevail, there certainly wasn’t a second to waste.

Compton leaned back. He was trying to stay focused, calling on all the legendary mental discipline that had made him such a successful commander for so long. He was considering every aspect of the situation, but he knew what he had to do. He would stay as long as he could, get as many Marines off the ground as possible. But the fleet couldn’t remain around the planet for long, he knew that…not with the enemy pouring in from X49.

And then there’s whatever Greta Hurley thinks she’s found near the X50 gate. If that’s an enemy force, it’s a hell of a lot closer
.

He sighed. No, he didn’t have much time. And if he didn’t get all of Preston’s Marines evac’d in time, he knew he would have to leave them behind. To die.

No. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He
had
to get them all off.

He turned toward Cortez. “Commander, Admiral West is to move her task force into lower orbit. She is to provide orbital bombardment in support of the Marine position on the planet. I want whatever is attacking the base down there pounded. And I do mean pounded…”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Compton stared at his workstation, switching the display to the data feed from the surface. The base camp was a rough circle, slightly squashed into an ellipse on one side. It was a little more than two kilometers in diameter, surrounded by a partial wall, and in front of that the real defense, a deep trench, manned by eight hundred Marines.

Compton wasn’t an expert on ground tactics, but he knew Preston was, and he could see the strength of the line the colonel had established. The AI annotated the display, and small yellow lines showed the fields of fire from the Marines’ autocannons and other heavy weapons. They crisscrossed over the main areas of approach, interlocking fields of fire covering as many areas as possible. And in those zones, hundreds of warbots had already been destroyed, their wreckage covering the ground in front of the Marine strongpoints.

But even a ship jockey like Compton could see that Preston didn’t have enough Marines to cover every approach. The bots were already shifting their axes of attack, moving toward the most vulnerable areas. Preston was moving his own people to compensate, but it took too long to reposition heavy guns…and his reactions were lagging behind the enemy’s actions. And the First Imperium forces weren’t dying alone. These weren’t ancient warriors charging with spears. The bots were armed to the teeth, and they blasted the Marine positions mercilessly as they charged. Compton was sitting in the quiet calm of his bridge…but he knew on the ground Marines were dying.

And Hieronymus is still down there…

“Sir, Admiral West is on the line for you.”

Compton turned toward Cortez, tapping his display and bringing up West’s task force as he did.
My God, he thought…she’s already almost in position.

“Admiral West?”

“Admiral, my ships are almost in position. Request permission to open fire as soon as we have targets.”

“Granted. Those Marines are in rough shape…we need to help them any way we can.”

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ll help them.” Her voice was cold, angry…utterly frozen. “Request authorization to use specials.”

“Things are pretty tight down there, Erica. We don’t want to take out our own people.” Compton felt a wave of doubt. He had no problem blasting the First Imperium with nukes, at least not in theory, but the thought of frying his own Marines…

“I’ll aim them myself, Admiral.” West’s voice was cold as ice. Compton almost shivered at the sound of it. “You have my word, sir. I won’t miss.”

“Very well, Admiral West. Permission granted…at your discretion.” He felt a burning pit in his gut, a taste of how he would feel if a less than perfectly-targeted nuke killed hundreds of Marines. But Erica West wasn’t a bullshitter, she wasn’t ruled by false bravado. Indeed, she was probably the only one in the fleet he’d have allowed to drop nuclear weapons all around his Marines…himself included.

“Thank you, sir. Bombardment commencing in one minute.”

“Very well. Good luck, Erica.”

Yes
, he thought grimly.
Good luck
.

*    *    *

“Doctor Cutter, I want you on the first shuttle that touches down. This is no place for you.” Preston realized his tone had been unduly harsh. Hieronymus Cutter had become somewhat of a hero to the Marines, ever since he’d saved several of them from certain death in the tunnels. There wasn’t one among them who would banish him from their ranks as unworthy to be there. But Preston knew Admiral Compton would hang him up by his heels if he let the brilliant scientist get himself killed. And the admiral’s orders had been clear.

“You have to go, Hieronymus,” he went on, his voice softer, less hard-edged. “You are perhaps the one person the fleet cannot lose, save for Admiral Compton himself.” A pause. “Please.”
Don’t make me order a couple Marines to drag you there…

Cutter just nodded. In his mind he was wondering how long it had been since Colonel James Preston had followed up a command with the word ‘please.’ A long time, he suspected.

“Very well, Colonel. I realize I don’t offer much to the fight here.” Cutter had felt a compulsion to remain on the planet while Almeerhan remained, fighting against their mutual enemy. But the First Imperium warrior—or the essence of him that had remained—was gone now, passed on to whatever awaited his people. There was nothing keeping Cutter here any longer, nothing save his discomfort with leaving the Marines behind, fighting to cover his escape.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Preston sounded surprised that Cutter had agreed so easily. The scientist had adamantly refused to leave earlier.

They don’t understand, Cutter thought. But how could they? I will explain it to them all later. Assuming there is a later
.

He looked out toward the perimeter. The sounds of combat were everywhere. The enemy was probing all along the perimeter, looking for the weak spot. Cutter wasn’t a soldier, but he knew if the bots got through, the battle would quickly become a slaughter.

“Colonel, I give you my word. You don’t need to nursemaid me. I know you have more important things to worry about right now.”

“Very well, Doctor. I will see you on
Midway
.” The Marine turned and ran off toward the front lines.

Cutter just nodded.
I hope so, Colonel. I hope so
.

He heard a roaring sound overhead, and he looked up. It was a group of shuttles, coming in over the battlefield, heading toward the landing area. They were taking fire from the ground, and more than one was hit coming in.

Cutter stood, watching, willing the ships to make it. But he knew they weren’t all going to get through, and a few seconds later, he saw one pitch wildly to the side and crash hard into the ground, erupting into a plume of fire.

He stood firm, transfixed on the fiery scene as the other shuttles flew over the defensive perimeter and made rushed landings. One of the ships hit too hard, shattering its landing gear and tipping partially over. But no more were destroyed. Cutter felt anguish for the lost ship, but deep down he knew that one bird destroyed and another damaged was a light toll…at least considering the fire they’d passed through coming in.

He moved toward the cluster of ships, still feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving so many Marines behind, but free now of the earlier compulsion he’d felt to stay.

He could see Marines moving back too, heading toward the ships themselves. Cutter knew there was no other way to evacuate the position, and he felt like he had the slightest idea of how the Marines heading to the shuttles felt, leaving their brothers and sisters behind in the line.

He wondered if he’d ever see Duncan Frasier or James Preston again. He knew both men well enough to be sure that neither one would step onto a shuttle while they still had Marines on the planet. And Cutter couldn’t see any way they’d all get off. Each group detached and sent back to the fleet just weakened the line more. And the losses the shuttles took would wear down the capacity of each wave. At some point, the enemy would break through…and that would be the end for the rearguard. Even if they weren’t all slaughtered immediately, there would be no LZ remaining, no place for the transports to land.

Cutter just sighed. He longed for the days when his world had largely been restricted to his lab, even when that lab had been on
Midway
, hopelessly lost and exposed to the deadly dangers the fleet faced every moment. He’d gotten a taste of what Compton and Frasier and the others dealt with, the way they were so often compelled to choose who lived and died. Cutter had learned to control his own fears, more or less, developed more courage than he’d ever imagined possible for him. But he didn’t think he could take on the terrible responsibility command carried with it. He’d respected Compton already, and men like Preston and Frasier. And Almeerhan too. And he was grateful not to be standing in their shoes.

He knew leadership wasn’t an exact science, but he could see similarities in those commanders that men and women would follow, even to their deaths. And he realized, amid the terrible misfortune to be stranded, lost forever, the spacers and Marines of the fleet were fortunate indeed to have such leaders as they did.

And perhaps we should also be thankful that the First Imperium had—men?—like Almeerhan, who outlasted all others of his race to endure and to pass the knowledge of his people on to those who would succeed them.

He was still deep in thought when he stepped up onto the shuttle and walked inside.

*    *    *

“Duncan, you’re going up with the next group.” Colonel Preston was standing next to his second in command, putting as much authority as he could muster into his tone. He knew Frasier was going to argue with him, and was trying to cut it off as quickly as he could.

“Colonel…”

“Not now, Duncan. We’ve got two more trips to get everybody off. And we both can’t stay. If one of us doesn’t get off, the other has to be there to command the rest of the Marines.” It sounded reasonable, but both men knew the last group of Marines was likely to be overwhelmed before the transports could return. Staying wasn’t a suicide mission, not exactly. But it was close.

“Which is why I should stay, sir. You are the overall commander. This is a job tailor made for an exec.”

Preston hid a little wince. Frasier was right. By every rule in the book, a second in command was far more expendable than the commander, and the logical choice to lead any dangerous mission. But Preston didn’t care. He’d chosen who escaped, and who had stay…who was likely to die. And having consigned his Marines to their fates, he wasn’t going to leave them. It was that simple, book or not. They would all get off together or none of them.

“Don’t quote the book to me, Major. The regs are also clear about obeying your commander’s order without questioning them. Now you are…”

“Attention Marine forces. Attention Marine forces. This is Admiral West. We are commencing ground bombardment operations against the forces facing your lines. All Marines are ordered to take whatever cover is available at once. The bombardment will include specials. Repeat, the bombardment will include specials.”