The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (38 page)

“Indeed, I have yet to find an instance of the Eldari standing before a concentrated Eagle offensive, regardless of numerical superiority. We can only ascertain that they are incapable of doing so.”

“That is true, General, but the Eldari are without communications, and much of their ordnance was rendered inoperative by the EMT strikes.”

“Which were effective largely because of the inferiority of the Eldari equipment.” Trax’s voice was heavy with disgust. “No, we cannot consider the native forces to be of any use save baiting the trap…and that is why we must wait before we strike, why we must remain in our shielded bunkers without giving the enemy any opportunity to detect our presence.”

The major cleared his throat, likely as much to gain a few seconds to work up his courage than because he really needed to. “May I remind you, sir,” he said tentatively, “that we have suffered some equipment failures as well, despite our superior ordnance and our position in shielded bunkers?”

“That is true, Major. Clearly, the Eagles’ weapons were enhanced somehow to produce an EMP spike far above norms for nuclear detonations. But the attack was a minor inconvenience to us…yet it virtually obliterated the Eldari forces’ capacity to resist. They are getting what they deserve.”

The general paused for a few seconds, his mind deep in thought, face twisted into a frown. “Still, the Eldari must pose enough of a threat to compel the Eagles to bring down all their forces. Our best reports suggest that only two of four operational regiments have landed as of yet. If the Eldari fall too rapidly, the Black Eagles will keep their reserves on their fleet…and they will have maximum mobility to counter our strike. Or, perhaps more unfortunately, half of the company will be able to escape once they become aware of the size of our forces…and the lethality of the trap we have set for them. Trax’s confident voice faltered a bit when he mentioned Eagle forces escaping. His orders had been made perfectly clear to him—destroy the Black Eagles, all of them. And he had seen how the Triumvirate handled failure.

“Perhaps we should provide at least some limited support, sir. At least enough to stabilize their forces. We must coax the Eagles to land the remainder of their combat units, after all.” Diomeni’s voice was halting, tentative. It was clear he didn’t like watching allies hung out to dry…but even more apparent that he was hesitant to challenge General Trax too strongly.

Trax looked up from the display and stared at Diomeni.

“We cannot release
any
of our primary combat units, Major. Not yet. The Eagles have faced Omega forces before, and the chance that they will recognize the true threat we pose is too great. But we will dispatch what we can to stiffen the Eldari lines…weapons, communications equipment, ordnance that will not seem out of place in their hands.” He paused. “And armored vehicles. There were no tanks deployed when the Omega forces engaged the Eagles on Lysandria, and therefore no reason they would connect such forces to us. It is likely they will attribute them to some Eldari secret corps, an armored reserve the Tyrant had kept hidden. Perhaps they will even determine that such a force is the trap they are no doubt expecting. Indeed, if that is the case then we shall gain doubly from their early deployment.

Trax stood silently for a moment, considering his own words. Then he said, “Yes, release the armored force. They are to launch an attack against the Eagles’ flank. Then the enemy will be compelled to bring down reserves to face the new threat.”

Tanks had virtually disappeared from ground warfare since the Fall. Few of the worlds of Occupied Space had the industry to build large numbers of the heavy combat vehicles…and transporting them across space was incalculably expensive. Even the Triumvirate was severely limited in what it could produce and move. But destroying the Black Eagles was the highest priority operation currently underway, and no expense had been spared setting a trap that would destroy Darius Cain and his elite warriors.

“General, the operational directives for the armored vehicles stipulate that they are to be deployed with infantry support.”

“Yes, Major, but if we send out any of our infantry, the Eagles will know who we are. They may even abort the invasion and escape.” He left unspoken the fact that every officer in the force ranked colonel or higher—and possibly major too—would likely lose their heads if that happened. “No, the armor will attack alone.”

Trax paused, slipping deep into his thoughts for a moment. “And activate full Endgame protocols for the armored units, Major.” His voice was deep, almost grim. “We can’t risk having the Eagles take any Omega soldiers prisoner…”

Chapter 27

“The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

Earthdate: 2318 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

“What the hell is going on, Rolf?” John Cranston burst into the control room like a force of nature. He was dressed in his duty uniform, but the state of his hair—and the fact that the buttons of his jacket were out of order—told Rolf Anders he had awakened the Nest’s provisional commander when he’d sounded the alarm.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s probably some kind of misunderstanding. But we’ve got ships coming through the Gravis warp gate.”

Cranston moved up behind Anders, staring down at the captain’s display. “Any contact?”

“Negative, sir. We have issued the standard challenges.” The Eagles were extremely defensive of their base, and there was a series of communications issued to unauthorized vessels approaching the Nest. The first was polite, a businesslike announcement that the ship was encroaching on secured space and instructing it to change course. By the third broadcast, very specific threats were being made, strong enough to chill the blood of most unwelcome interlopers. But the approaching ships had ignored the warnings and continued toward the Nest.

Cranston stared down at the screen, and he felt a knot in his stomach. One lost ship he could buy…maybe. But icons were still coming onto the display as the scanners around the warp gate picked up new vessels emerging. They were all lost? None of them had active com systems? Not likely.

“Bring the Nest to red alert, Captain.” Anders had already initiated condition yellow, one that had heightened the readiness posture of the Nest’s defensive personnel. But red alert was a full war footing, an order to prepare to repel an imminent attack.

“Yes, sir.” The control center was bathed in the red glow of the battle lamps. The alarm sounded throughout the massive complex. On every level, in dormitories and quarters, in workshops and rec areas, the Black Eagles were being called to arms. The frontline regiments were gone, off fighting on Eldaron. But the Nest was far from defenseless. Cranston commanded an impressive force, and the Black Eagles base was well-armed and able to defend itself. But ships kept pouring out of the warp gate, more than twenty already, and the provisional commander began to worry.

Who is launching an attack this size? Who would dare? Who even could?

He leaned over Anders, reaching out and opening a com line. “This is Major John Cranston of the Black Eagles.” He’d almost added, ‘commander on site,’ but he’d stopped himself. There was no reason to broadcast that the Eagle’s feared field army was gone, off on a mission and unavailable to bolster the defenses of the Nest. Though he was fairly certain that whoever had launched this attack was well-aware of that fact.

“You are hereby directed to decelerate at once and reverse course, returning to your warp gate of origin. If you fail to obey this command within thirty seconds, we will consider you intent hostile and respond accordingly.” He flipped a switch, cutting off the line. He didn’t have any interest in a reply, not a verbal one at least. If those bastards didn’t want to feel everything he had to throw at them, they could show it by turning around and leaving. Now.

“All primary posts report combat readiness, Major.” Anders had been monitoring the status display, watching the updates while Cranston was sending his communique.

“All missile stations, prepare to launch as soon as the enemy enters range.” Cranston’s eyes were on the chronometer, watching the last of the thirty seconds slip away. His choice of the term ‘enemy’ was clearly deliberate. The fleet, wherever it had come from, had gotten its last chance. Now the Eagles would treat it as an attacking force…and a deadly threat.

Cranston watched as still more ships came through the warp gate, and any doubt he had drained away. This was an attack, one carefully planned to hit the Nest while the strike force was away. He could feel his stomach tighten, as he thought about it. Nobody had hired the Eagles for this mission. No one outside the organization had any idea that Darius and the strike force had left for Eldaron.

Elias Cain. The thought popped into his mind, but he quickly discounted it. Elias knew his brother had gone to Eldaron, that the main Eagle forces were away from the Nest. Cranston had liked Elias Cain; he’d convinced himself to trust him. Now he felt a wave of doubt, a sick feeling that perhaps he should not have allowed Elias to leave.

No
, he thought almost immediately,
it can’t be him. This is a serious operation. These ships left their bases long before Elias Cain got here. But then who…?

He stared back down at the display. The lead elements of the enemy fleet were almost in range. “Missile status, Captain?”

“All launchers report armed and ready, sir.”

Cranston stared at the screen for a few seconds, watching as the first line of enemy ships entered range.

“All missiles launch.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Strike force Alpha, form up on me. Force Beta, position for missile interception.” Christos Caravalla stared at the display, watching the waves of missiles moving toward the enemy fleet. His fighters had launched just after the fifth volley, staying close behind the cluster of missiles. With any luck, the enemy ships’ point defense arrays would be overwhelmed intercepting the incoming warheads, allowing his fighter-bombers to approach without heavy resistance.

He’d intended to take the entire fighter corps in against the enemy fleet, but there were just too many warheads heading toward the Nest. Force Beta consisted of half of his forty fighters, and detaching them would seriously deplete the power of his attack. But if too many enemy missiles got through, the Nest’s surface installations would be wiped clean. Most of the vital areas were far below ground—living quarters, the AI processing center, the reactors. But if the surface was hit hard enough, they’d lose the missile launchers, laser turrets, docking facilities, scanning arrays. The Nest would be besieged, its ability to strike back against its attackers obliterated.

If the fleet had been in port, the ten Eagle warships would have moved up behind the massive missile attack to meet the invaders. But the ships were all gone, dispatched to Eldaron with the strike forces…and the Nest had only its core defensive resources.

Including my forty fighters…

Caravalla was one of the oldest Eagles, an ex-Europan pilot who’d seen combat as far back as the Third Frontier War. He’d worked alongside Kevin Darryk to build up the Eagles’ fighter corps, but he had stepped aside and allowed his younger comrade to take command of the offensive element, the sixty fighter-bombers carried aboard the Eagle warships, while he led the forty craft permanently stationed to defend the Nest. The fighters were all the same design, though the older and more battered craft tended to rotate toward the defensive command. And there was no question, the best pilots were assigned the Darryk’s strike force, while those with less experience—or old vets like himself, past their primes—were assigned to the Nest-based forces.

Nevertheless, any Black Eagle was a highly skilled fighter, and Caravalla was confident his people would fight with distinction. But looking at the large enemy fleet, he had a feeling that wasn’t going to be enough. There were already thirty ships aligned in battle array, and vessels were still coming through the warp gate.

He had no idea who was attacking the Nest, but he couldn’t think of a world in Occupied Space that could field a fleet so large. Was it some kind of alliance? A pact of the other mercenary companies making a move on the Eagles? That didn’t make sense to him, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Getting the Eagles out of the way would open up some lucrative contracts to the others, but it couldn’t possibly make up for the losses they were sure to suffer in a protracted battle against the Nest’s defenses…not to mention the fact that Darius Cain was still out there, with the Eagle fleet and four crack regiments of troops. Caravalla was tense, focused on the battle at hand. But he shuddered to think of the revenge Cain would take against anyone who attacked and destroyed the Nest.

He watched the display as the first wave of missiles closed on the enemy ships. The attacking fleet’s point defense had blunted the volley, destroying two-thirds of the incoming warheads. Now, Caravalla focused as the final dance began…the surviving missiles seeking to get close enough to cause damage to the enemy ships, and the vessels themselves firing their magnetic catapults, throwing out huge clouds of metallic projectiles, seeking to destroy as many more of the incoming weapons as possible before they detonated.

He saw one of the tiny dots on the display expand into a larger circle…one of the warheads detonating. Then another…and another. He watched as the dozen or so missiles that had survived exploded all around the enemy formation. Most of them were too far out to cause significant damage, and they exploded without effect or inflicted minor exterior damage to a nearby ship. But four of them got close. Three detonated within two kilometers of enemy ships, bathing their targets with massive amounts of radiation, causing system failures, melting sections of the exterior hulls, and inflicting heavy casualties on the crews. The last missile got to within 400 meters of an enemy ship, and when the energy of the explosion began to clear there was simply nothing left. Missile and ship were both gone.