“Warren here.” It sounded like Jasper Logan. Why was Will’s aide comming him? “Logan? Calm down and report.”
“Sir, we need you here. Please come here right away.” Logan sounded almost irrational. “It’s General Thompson, sir. Please come now.”
“Logan?” There was no response. “Logan…report!” Still nothing.
Kyle turned to face Calvin. “Ed, take command. Get our people out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Calvin was struggling to maintain his cool demeanor. His mind was racing, but it would do no good to fire questions at Warren when he knew the general didn’t have any answers. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Thanks, Ed.” Warren’s face was grim as he jogged down the path that led to the valley.
It was only later that Warren was able to piece together what happened. Half a dozen troopers had seen it, though each of them remembered it slightly differently. The enemy had broken through twice in the center, and both times Will had led his two companies in a counterattack, driving the exhausted and disordered federals back.
He’d just ordered up a third company to replace losses when a new enemy attack pierced the line barely two hundred meters from his position. His forces were depleted now, and the breakthrough was substantial. It was a much tougher fight, and in the end it came down to a close range struggle with pistols and even knives. Will was in the center of the action, and he killed at least ten enemy troopers. His example rallied his exhausted soldiers and they stood fast, beating back the superior federal forces.
The fight was just about over when it happened. The shooting had stopped, and Will was directing his troops to start gathering the wounded. That’s when the accounts began to differ. Some witnesses say Will was leaning over to give a wounded federal soldier a drink. Others saw him drop something and bend over to pick it up.
Whatever the prelude, they all agreed on what happened next. A wounded federal grabbed his assault rifle and leveled it at Will. No one seemed to know if Will didn’t see or if the wily veteran’s combat instincts finally failed him and he froze. The rifle’s muzzle flashed one time, and the round hit Will in the chest from less than two meters away.
His body was blown back by the force of the shot, and he fell on a small patch of torn up grass and mud. The Fed was riddled with fire from half a dozen directions, but it was too late…the damage was done.
Will was sprawled out on the grass, open eyes staring up at Arcadia’s hazy red sun. There was a huge gash on his chest, his uniform soaked with blood. He was surrounded by his soldiers, hardened veterans now unable to hold back the tears from watery eyes.
They tried to talk to him, but Will was far away. Crawling through the garbage strewn streets of the South Philly Flats, back in the wardroom on the Guadalcanal playing cards, walking along the banks of the Concord River with Kara. Kara…he could see her face…blurry, distant. He tried to call out to her, but his throat was full of blood and there were no words.
The troops closest to him were on their knees, desperately trying to bind the hideous wound, but it was hopeless. His lips moved, and blood spurted from his mouth. Then he took one last breath, and he was gone.
William Thompson, the hero of the rebellion and the heart and soul of the army, was dead.
Chapter 26
Cain was exhausted. They’d flown him here on a Torch, a Martian transport that was the fastest ship in space. It accelerated full halfway, decelerated the rest and reached Mars orbit in less than 36 hours. No freefall, no low g maneuvers…just full out blasting the entire way. Sitting strapped in an acceleration couch pumped full of pressure-equalization drugs wasn’t fun under any circumstances – with a barely-treated deep tissue shoulder wound it was hell. He was pale and haggard when he staggered out into the station’s arrival pavilion.
He knew it had to be important. As soon as they made it back to the Martian embassy, he got the word – he had to go to Mars immediately. No explanation, just a cryptic coded communication marked with a V. Vance. Cain wasn’t a trusting sort, not by any measure, but the Martian industrialist and spy had done right by them so far, delivering on every promise he’d made. That was enough to get Cain on a shuttle without delay, the doctor tagging along to tend his wound as they drove to the spaceport.
He still couldn’t quite process the fact that they’d gotten Admiral Garret out. Cain hadn’t thought twice about taking the mission, but deep down he didn’t really think they would make it. He knew they had to try, and that was enough for him. But they had actually managed it, despite odds he knew had been incalculably daunting. They had three dead and three wounded, heavy losses from a force of 11 men and women…but not too bad for a supposed suicide mission.
If Vance’s people managed to get Garret off Earth like they promised, it would change everything. There wasn’t a doubt in Cain’s mind that the entire navy – or at least most of it – would rally to Garret, whatever course of action he chose. He wasn’t sure the admiral had been a major rebel sympathizer, but his experiences in Washbalt had to shape his point of view about the Alliance and the merits of the conflict. Erik was sure that whatever the admiral chose to do, it would be helpful to the struggling colonists.
“General Cain, welcome to Phobos.” Erik turned to face a tall man, about his own age, sandy haired and dressed in the jet black uniform of the Confederation Marines. “It is a great pleasure to meet you.” The man extended his hand. “I am Colonel Linus Wagner. I have been a great follower of your career.”
“Thank you, colonel. You are too kind.” Cain extended his arm, shaking hands with Wagner as he spoke.
“I sincerely wish we had time to get acquainted, but I’m afraid my orders are to escort you without delay.” He motioned toward a corridor opposite the entry hatch from the ship.
Cain just nodded and followed his new acquaintance toward the corridor. Wagner led him to the first door off the main concourse and placed his hand on a small scanner on the wall. The door slid open. “As I said, general, it was a pleasure to meet you, even so briefly. Your party is waiting.” He gestured toward the open portal.
“Thank you again, colonel. Perhaps another time we can sit and talk shop, so to speak.” Erik nodded and walked through, the door closing immediately behind him.
“I have to apologize for dragging you up here so quickly after that amazing rescue mission you pulled off.”
Cain wasn’t at all surprised to see Roderick Vance sitting on one end of a large leather couch. Behind him was a large clear panel with a view of the rocky surface and, beyond, a glimpse of Mars itself, a hazy orange crescent visible just to the left of Vance’s head.
“In our brief acquaintance, you do not seem to be one to overreact. I was intrigued – which is a nice way to say unnerved – by the urgency of your unexpected message.” Cain walked over, taking a seat at the other end of the couch when Vance motioned toward it. “I therefore assume that some fresh disaster has befallen us. As tempted as I was to try and ignore more bad news, I’ve never been good at putting my head in the sand.”
Vance smiled. Despite his extensive business holdings and the demands of both his public and private professions, the Martian was somewhat of a misanthrope who enjoyed solitude far more than the company of most people. But he genuinely liked Cain. The plainspoken Marine wasn’t fake like most people; that much Vance had seen from the beginning. He got the impression that Cain tolerated people almost as uncomfortably as he himself did.
“Well, General Cain, by most standards what I have to tell you qualifies as bad news, though the fact that we have discovered it offers the opportunity to avert disaster. Indeed, it explains some things that, until recently, had me stumped.” Just tell him, Vance thought to himself. “General Rafael Samuels has been suborned by Alliance Intelligence. He has even been granted a secret Seat on the Directorate.” Vance looked intently at Cain, expecting an argument or at least shock. But Cain surprised him.