Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (41 page)

Anna pursed her lips. “I wish you wouldn't pretend like I don't know anything about Starfield Theory,” Anna snapped. “I got out of the business, but I didn't lose my mind, too. Don't you have some sort of equation for calculating our best options. I'm sure someone here has done a study on Salena.”

LK shrugged. “That's for those psychotic math people to figure out. I'm Praxis, I don't deal with numbers. In any case, we
have
done studies on Salena and she's unstable. She can't fit into equations because her irrationality causes unpredictable variables that screw it up every time. They predicted she'd have Damien arrested the second he stepped on Magdeborg. They predicted she'd send Magnus to the border to control the war with the Dominion. No one predicted she'd launch a coup to overthrow the Sørensens.”

“I thought you weren't one of those psychotic math people?”

LK rolled his eyes. “I'll get in touch with my contacts. The attack on the funeral has the city in an uproar. The checkpoints have increased, the patrols are everywhere. People are being detained and executed. You won't be able to move until everything calms down anyway. In the mean time, I think you two ought to make yourselves at home for now. We're safe enough and there are a few other Weathermen Theorists who might be able to help us if we need it. Our best bet is to get you to the resistance who might be able to get you off world.”

“Is it true then? What they're fighting for? Damien was right about Peter's children?”

“Yes. Although that was also something the Pedants failed to predict,” he said with some disgust.

“Then the last thing Salena needs is the identification of more illegitimate royal children. Get us to the resistance as quickly as you can,” Anna said.

They both glanced over at Rebecca who was still coloring away in her book, oblivious to the dire situation around her.

“You do know that Damien tried to go back for you, right?” LK said quietly.

“I wasn't sure.”

“I went back after I got you two settled here. There was an unmarked car, two guys who were probably Conrad's men, but they were dead. He hasn't forgotten you,” he said with uncharacteristic empathy. “If I know anything about Lord Damien, it's that he doesn't leave things unfinished. He will come back. It's just a matter of keeping you two alive in the mean time.”

Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten

Knight Scion of House Mercer

Farland, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

“Damn it, I want those reserves in place now!” Aaron shouted through his comm. “They're on the run and I want to push them all the way back to their ships if we can.”

He shoved the joysticks forward, forcing his
Axen
to advance. He kept his weapons active, lasers and autocannons picking at the retreating Dominion troops. He used the destrier's ax to clear trees and wrecked vehicles and destriers out of the way. They'd hit them hard and inflicted critical damage to House Bish's forces. One of their knights was dead and the surviving nobles were desperately putting militia units between them and the oncoming Commonwealth sections to slow them down.

The Mercer sections under Sir Daxon Pride and Sir Jeffery Aldridge fought furiously, crushing the Dominion troops they'd run into. Aaron was careful to reign them in when they went too far, narrowing avoiding one trap or another. They wanted vengeance, and Aaron would not deny them, but he needed them alive.

The rolling foothills and forests of Goteborg's main continent offered a tricky game of cat and mouse as the Dominion sections continued to fall back, picking at Commonwealth units as they exposed themselves. The hills and trees were breaking radar contacts, making it difficult to track the movements of friend and foe. As the Mercer sections and their allies advanced, Aaron was using reserve sections to plug holes when the main lines became split. The reserves were having trouble keeping up.

In his field of view a House Bish destrier was urging a collection of vehicles to stand and fight. Aaron pressed forward, his SESE tattoos alive now that he was back at the controls. He felt a connection with his machine he hadn't felt in months, almost a year. It'd been that long, but it all came back to him in a flash.

He lined up his crosshairs on the destrier and unloaded a full clip of ammunition into its chest. It ruined the destrier's red and yellow patched color scheme and tore huge gashes in its armor. It returned fire with a halfhearted laser beam and scoured armor from Aaron's legs. It was too distracted with the vehicles to concentrate on Aaron.

Aaron smiled and pushed ahead. His Thresher missile obtained a lock on one of the tanks whose treads spun hopelessly in the mud. He fired. The missile arced up then directly into the top of the tank's turret. A huge fireball consumed the machine and it detonated, blowing debris into its neighbors. The destrier took its main gun in the left leg and stumbled, then went down. He lined his laser up with another lighter tank which was starting its reverse, its main gun barking uselessly against Aaron's thick armor. He dispatched it with another long pull from the laser. It seared into the engine and destroyed it in one fiery burst of energy.

He approached the downed destrier, which had just extricated itself from the barrel. He leveled his weapons at it and hesitated. Normally honor require he demand the knight's surrender. But this knight had participated in the slaughter on Haberton. It bore the world on its chest along with the others Lord Morlan's army had conquered. Aaron adjusted his aim for the head and pulled the trigger. The cockpit exploded outward and the destrier sagged then collapsed onto its back.

Enjoy Ithix. I hope you can swim,
Aaron thought.

He checked his battle map after making sure no other Bish units were in the area. The Dominion's House Madet was still on the right flank being harassed by Evers militia. They were not committing to the fight and, for a moment, Aaron wondered if they and House Bish were not cooperating. They seemed content to watch the Mercers pick apart House Bish. Such miscommunications and battlefield spats were not uncommon and he planned to take advantage of the situation. Sometimes it seemed fine to let old feuds be settled on the field.

What disturbed him the most was the missing Pershing command section. So far it was only Houses Bish and Madet over here. Not a single destrier or vehicle was wearing Pershing colors.

Reyna was hanging back, keeping a watchful eye on the rest of the Mercer section putting them in place as an efficient sergeant would. She would push his troops into battle, encouraging them and directing their fire. Despite her managerial approach, she also did not hesitate to take her fair share of shots at the fleeing Dominion troops. He'd ordered her to watch for Pershing as well.

Aaron saw a wheeled vehicle move into his line of sight, abandoning the relative protection of the treeline. He immediately lined his autocannons on the vehicle's left side and pulled the triggers. Streams of shells dented and ruined the armor, punching through in some places. His autocannon clips ran dry and ceased firing while a new clip was loaded. One of his rounds touched off the vehicle's ammunition bins and detonated, a bright white flash as the crew and vehicle died.

These are still just militia. They're keeping their heavy units back, which is either poor planning or purposeful. Knowing Pershing, probably the latter of the two. Damn Kristoffer for his stupidity. Pershing was out of the war and without him the Dominion was leaderless.

Aaron ordered a stop to the advance, wary now of the potential trickery. His sections were beginning to string out and separate from the formation. Any further and they'd start losing cohesion altogether. House Madet might seize that opportunity to attack. He ordered a general hold up of the entire advance.

Slowly, his sections stopped their forward progress and reformed. The lines adjusted to bring those sections back into the overall formation like raindrops sliding down a window. The
power dispersion on a battlefield ebbs and flows. Part of being a good general is only being able to recognize how and why power is moving and being able to point it in the correct direction.

They'd pushed the Dominion back this far. Their flanking attack had turned into a withdrawal far more quickly than it should have. It was time to see if they kept running or turned and organized another assault. Either way, Aaron was beginning to sense something was not right.
And that usually means something isn't.

Reyna's
Thunder
-class destrier halted by his side. “I don't like the look of this,” she cautioned on a private band.

Aaron nodded, even though she couldn't see the gesture. “I know. They've been giving ground too easily.”

“Some of the techs were reporting Houses Bish and Madet were exchanging fire. I think there might be an internal issue,” she said. “We haven't had any scouting information in the last ten minutes. It's all old data.”

“Really?” Aaron asked, though he did not need to hear it again. It wasn't unusual for houses from the same state to fight each other. Old rivalries and distrust ran deep. To see it on the battlefield under Lord Morlan personal command however shouldn't happen. “Wait a minute.”

He switched channels back to command frequency. “Command, are you seeing this?”

There was static, a long pause, then: “We have a bit of a problem here.”

“Who is this? What's going on?”

“It's Kristoffer.” There was fear in his voice.

Aaron's eyes went wide. “Amrah damn it all, what's going on? Why aren't I getting scouting information?”

There was a long pause, them a fumbling sound as he came on the line. “There was a strong push on our left flank. It collapsed. There are explosions outside, I think they're inside the perimeter. A lot of people here are dead. I'm the only one left in the command bunker.”

Aaron's stomach bottomed out as he realized his mistake. Morlan Pershing wasn't here at all. He sent a Pershing unit disguised as his command unit then personally led the main thrust of the attack elsewhere. Pershing knew it was Aaron, not Damien, leading the defense. He knew Aaron would come out himself to battle him and doing so would leave the overall battle in the hands of a woman mad with the death of her own son. He'd been tricked and made a fool of. His cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“Hold the line!” Aaron roared and wheeled his destrier around. “Get out of there if you have to, plug any hole with militia and hold!”

“There's something going on outside. Wait one,” the line went silent for almost a full thirty seconds before Kristoffer's voice came back on frantic and screaming, “They're hitting the bunker! Multiple companies!” Then the line terminated and refused to reconnect.
Damn it all!
Aaron screamed in his head.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!

He switched channels again quickly. “Reyna, stay here and organize an orderly withdrawal. Kristoffer says the command bunker has been hit. House Mercer form up and move out double quick!”

Aaron spun the
Axen
in place and punched up its maximum cruising speed. He gripped the joysticks tighter and grit his teeth, letting his anger fuel his movements.
How did I screw up this badly? I blundered right into feint and never even thought twice about it.

Damien was wrong, he realized. He was not fit to lead. Too arrogant, too desperate, too emotional, too easy to fool. Pershing dangled bait in front of him and he's leaped for it like a fool. Shame was his companion the entire hundred kilometer trek back to the command bunker.

Kristoffer

Captain of the
MacCleod
, Squire

Verland, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

Chris slammed the headset on the table and hurried from the room. The power went out and all the tactical screens went dead. The only other two people in the center bolted as soon as the explosions started. Chris shouted after them, but they ignored him.

He hurried in the opposite direction. He had to make it to the barn and the attached armory. Claire would be there and so would weapons and armored suits.

I will not die defenseless! I will not hide while others fight and die for me!

The command bunker was mostly empty, but he passed a two man patrol in armored suits racing away from him. The building still shook every few seconds as explosions roared outside. There was still fighting somewhere, someone was still resisting.

The hallway ended abruptly at a secured door. The keypad was no longer illuminated. He punched in the security code he was given, but it didn't work. He tried pushing against the door and sliding it into its recess without success.

“Move!” A mechanized voice shouted behind him. Acting instinctively he stumbled and ran to his left and diving away. An explosion sucked the air from his lungs and a wave of heat and debris washed over him like a violent ocean. He clamped his hands over his ears and waited for the rumbling to subside.

He climbed to his feet, wiping flecks and chunks of metal and plastic of himself. The two armored infantrymen hurried over.

“Sorry, sir!” One of them gasped desperately. “We couldn't get through the door, we had to blow it. We didn't know it was you!”

“What?” Chris shook his head in confusion. His ears must have been shot, he thought one of them had addressed him as “my lord,” rather than the more common, “hey, you, boy.”

“You're Sir Aaron's squire?”

Chris remembered the patch on his chest linking him to the knight. In the distance of a second the events on the
MacCleod
and Lord Pershing's scornful chuckle came back to him. Cast aside and forgotten, ignored and vilified by the Dominion, by his employer, by Sir Aaron. No more. These soldiers apparently believed he was nobility as all squires were. This was his chance.

Chris' face hardened. “You,” he pointed at one, “evacuate the barn, get the medical personnel and the wounded secured. You, with me, we need every fighter we can find to prevent the Dominion from gaining access to the facility. But first, find me a damn suit.”

Chris hurried through the blown out door and into the sunlight, noise and violence of the world. A cluster of ruined bodies lay not far from him in a heap. Arms and legs poked out like a bloody bundle of sticks. Chris ignored them and hurried into the barn. Clusters of soldiers desperately grabbed the wounded and dragged them onto stretchers to rush them to the secure bunker deep beneath the command bunker. Doctors and nurses packed away medical gear and worked to stabilize patients to move them. Blood was everywhere and the air was full of shouted orders and screaming patients.

“Here, my lord,” one of the sergeants said, pulling one of the armored suits from the racks. There were too many suits and not enough soldiers to fill them. He helped Chris into the suit then handed him his helmet.
I've never operated a combat suit in my life. It can't be that different than the spacer suits we wear when repairing the
Cleod,
can it? It just has weapons instead of welders.

The helmet would interface with his SESE tattoos and give him control of the suit and its functions. Secured in the right arm was 10mm machine gun loaded with high explosive or armor piercing rounds. Folded into the left forearm was a vibrablade capable of slicing a man in half without any real effort. The neck of the suit rubbed up against his throat, antagonizing the bruises Sir Aaron had left him the night prior.

“Start rounding up the other soldiers here. If they're capable of fighting I want them suited up and ready to go in two minutes,” he told the sergeant who hurried off.

Chris threaded his way between gurneys, tables and surgeons, hunting desperately. He found her securing a wounded man to a stretcher, both of them covered in blood. She was working quickly, but purposefully. No wasted efforts. She was entirely professional as if she'd been doing this her entire life.

“Claire.”

She glanced quickly at him, then back at her work. “What are you doing here?”

“Finding anyone who will fight and going to stop the Dominion,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

She stood up and wheeled on him now, her annoyance growing into anger. “I'm busy and I'm not fighting anyone. Why are you wearing that?”

“I'm going. It's similar to the EVA suits-”

“You're not a soldier, Chris,” she said flatly.

“Doesn't matter. Just get to the bunker and stay there.”

“What? While you play warrior up here? Stop it and get out of that suit and come with me. You don't belong here,” she said touching the suit's cold forearm.

“Of course I belong here! Aaron-” Chris stopped, looking at the other soldiers suiting up as quickly as they could.

“What? What did he tell you?”

He bit his lip. “This is all my fault,” he said, gesturing to the wounded men and women.

Claire looked around for a moment, too. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah it is. You dying isn't going to set it right. Come on,” she tugged on his arm, trying to pull him towards the bunker.

Chris pulled his arm free, an easy gesture made easier with the suits enhanced muscular system. “No. I have to try. I'm not going to be a spectator when I caused all this.”

“Chris...those are Dominion warriors. The whole flank caved in, there's no one left out there,” she was pleading now. “You can't go. You and all the people you take with you are going to die out there.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. He grabbed her hand and held it in the suit's armored fabric fingers. He smiled at her and looked into her eyes that were also his. She looked away and their destinies parted forever.

He headed to the huge doors, the other Commonwealth soldiers forming up around him. He had to do this, he realized. Sir Aaron was right, he was the cause of this. The aftermath of the fighting on the
Cleod
flooded his memory. Broken bodies and blood everywhere. Men and women gone into battle on his authority while he remained secure on the bridge. He'd been embarrassed by Pershing. He promised no harm would come to the civilians of Magdeborg. He was a liar, a murderer, a war criminal. Chris in turn promised not to have anything to do with the battle for Goteborg, not that he had any sort of influence on its outcome, but in this small rebellion he might satisfy himself.

The bruises on his throat still rubbed against the suit. Sir Aaron had nearly crushed the life out of him and probably had every right to. He had cowered on the floor, afraid and weak. Even Drayton had taken advantage of him by pushing him into an impossible mission then ignored his pleas for help after being taken captive by Sir Aaron's ship. He had been discarded as useless, a danger to DLT's bottom line.

No more. I won't be treated like a fool, a pawn. I'll make my own destiny. It begins today.

He clasped the helmet on his head and sealed it. Instantly on the face panel the heads-up-display appeared, with a map and the beacons of friendly units around him, a graph displaying his ammunition levels and communications channels. He activated the comms and everything exploded at once. Desperate local commanders were trying to hold their units together and calling for reinforcements.

Most of the fighting was still two kilometers to the northwest, but several Dominion sections had broken through and were headed his way. Chris stepped outside the barn and hurried towards the fighting. There were no more than twenty others with him, hardly enough to do any damage to anything, certainly not to stop Dominion destriers.

Patchworks of Commonwealth sections were arrayed around the bunker, here and there a knight was cobbling together a unit. Vehicles and destriers sporting every color and paint scheme in the Commonwealth army were thrown together and ushered back into the killing fields.

Chris found a few tanks and infantry fighting vehicles that had clustered around the bunker and called them to him. Their sergeants unsure what else to do, listened. Most had their sections destroyed or their knights killed. They needed someone willing to take charge. One of the tanks rumbled to a halt near him and he climbed on board, opening a direct link with him.

“Who are you exactly?” The tank commander asked him.

“I am Kristoffer, squire to Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten. Now get me to the front,” he said. He clambered onto the tank and ordered the other infantry on with him. They obeyed and the tank commander offered no resistance.

“Contact anyone else around here and bring them to me. We're going to stop their advance before they hit the compound. More time is needed to evacuate the wounded!” He called over the Commonwealth military channel to anyone that would listen.

He activated the suit's magnetic paneling and secured himself to the tank's turret one foot resting on the cannon itself. It rumbled ahead, but he remained upright, like a beacon drawing other Commonwealth troops to him. A few of the knights in their destriers even joined ranks and followed behind. He activated the blade built into the suit's left arm and pointed it forward, urging the other units on.

The tactical map on Chris' heads-up-display indicated the Dominion forces marching closer. Their ranks were tight, units relatively fresh and their morale was high. The Commonwealth troops were scattered, damaged and desperate. It didn't take a military genius to figure out the results.

“Catch them in the forest,” Chris said over the net. “Don't give them any clear lines of fire on the barn!” Destriers and the heavier tanks cleared trees and the lighter units followed in their wake. Chris' tank crushed a huge pine tree and sent it toppling into a Dominion destrier. It actually cracked the armor on its chest and it stumbled back before the tank commander put a shell into its gut.

Chris deactivated his magnetic seal with the tank and leaped to the ground. The other armored infantry formed up around him. He waved the blade one last time then charged headlong into the Dominion's formation.

Two kilometers away a Dominion artillery unit received an encoded transmission from the command center of Morlan Pershing. The demi-colonel in charge read the note then deleted it from his console. He ordered the loading of a special canister in the tubes, the crew handling them with extreme caution. In unison, all six guns fired and a minute later a huge white cloud began to rise.