“I’m glad, Erik. Because you’ve got the shit job…you and Admiral West.” Holm’s tone became darker, sadder. “We need time, and you’re going to have to buy it for us. And I don’t expect it to be cheap.” He took a deep breath. “You have to hold Farpoint for as long as you can. Every extra day increases our chances to win this war. To survive.”
Cain stood silently, looking back at Holm, his mind lost in thought. Erik had never chased glory…he’d never really cared about it. The medals, the fame, the awards…they’d mostly made him uncomfortable. For him the Corps was about camaraderie, about being part of a brotherhood. About fighting for something better, something more worthy than the hell he’d come from. When he was young he had believed in that…he’d believed it with his heart and soul. But now he looked to that place his resolve had come from and there were only doubts. A lifetime of war, and what had changed? A legion of slaughtered friends and what had it gotten them? Another war? A never ending cycle of suffering and death?
He felt himself trying to push through the doubts, the dark thoughts, and answer the general. But it was hard…difficult in a way that was new to him. It wasn’t fear…though he was afraid…afraid of pain and death, afraid that he’d never see Sarah again…afraid of the judgment on his soul for the masses of faithful troops he’d led knowingly to slaughter. But this wasn’t fear. It was exhaustion…a fatigue deep inside him. Maybe, he thought, there is a limit to the butcher’s bill one man can endure.
“Erik?”
Cain could hear Holm’s voice through his daydream, and he pushed back the grim thoughts, slowly, painstakingly clearing his mind. “Sorry, general.” Erik Cain was a creature of duty, and he knew he would never retreat from that. He would find a way…somehow. “We’ll hold them off, sir. Admiral West and I will give them a hell of a fight.”
“I know you will, Erik.” Holm could see Cain was struggling with his inner demons. No man had been more on the forefront of the Alliance’s struggles for the past two decades than Cain. And no one knew Erik Cain like Holm did, save for Sarah Linden and perhaps Jax. “I’m counting on you.” He walked across the room and put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “There is no one I trust more.”
Cain forced a smile. “Thank you, sir.” He looked into the general’s eyes and hoped his weakness didn’t show in his own. “You can count on me, sir.” But there was still doubt in his mind…and something else. A coldness, something he’d never felt. Is this a premonition, he wondered…is this what so many other warriors have felt? Perhaps this is my last battle…maybe death is finally catching up to me. He wondered if that wouldn’t be a blessing of sorts, but he quickly suppressed those thoughts. He tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the work to be done, but the cold feeling was still there, hanging on the edge of this thoughts.
Chapter 22
“You are doing very well, James.” Sarah Linden gave Teller a sweet smile. “You’re a much better patient than Erik. I think there are still a few staff members here who draw nasty little cartoons of him.”
Teller smiled. It didn’t hurt. He was still getting used to things not hurting. For almost four months, every move he made was accompanied by excruciating pain. “There are a few Marines who do the same.” Teller surprised himself – he hadn’t realized he felt well enough to make a joke. Actually, he thought, you’d have to look far and wide in the Corps to find anyone with anything but reverent respect for Erik Cain. And that included James Teller.
“I’m clearing you for limb regeneration.” She maintained her smile, but a little look of sympathy crept onto her face.
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t get used to being out of pain?” Teller winked at her. “I’ll be fine, doc. I’m a Marine. We don’t even feel pain.” Limb regenerations were notoriously excruciating, and most anesthetics and pain relievers were off the table - they interfered with proper nerve growth. The pain was so bad that many patients needed psychiatric counseling to get over it once their new arms and legs were grown.
She let out a small laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve had some big tough Marines in here, and I’m pretty sure they could all feel pain.” Her smile faded. “You’ll get through it, James. I won’t lie to you and tell you it’s not a struggle, because it is. But when it’s done you’ll be good as new.” She paused uncomfortably. “I’m not going to be here during your regen. I’m heading to Sandoval to set up a forward hospital. Admiral Garret and General Holm are setting up a defensive line against the enemy invasion.” Her voice was becoming sadder. “We both know there are going to be a lot of casualties. That’s where I belong.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah.” He’d miss the personal attention he was getting from Armstrong Medical’s chief of staff, but he knew the Marines – and the naval crews – up there on the line needed her a hell of a lot more than he did. “You took great care of me.” She’d seen him through the crisis, bringing him out of medical stasis and putting his guts back together. Now she had pronounced his internal systems fully recovered…though she hadn’t proven it by giving him solid food yet. “I’m sure your team can slap two legs and an arm on without too much trouble.”
“Yes, they can.” She smiled once more. “You take care, James.” She leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I wouldn’t want you telling Erik I didn’t take good care of you.”
Teller smiled back and watched her walk away. Take care of yourself, Sarah, he thought. Things are likely to get hot up there.
Merrick walked down the street toward the Marine command center. He didn’t see much ahead, just a ramshackle group of modular buildings. It was all part of his re-education. The Marines had relocated their headquarters to Armstrong, but they’d poured most of the available resources into equipment and training for the combat forces. More tooth, less tail. General Holm and his officers clearly felt supporting their troops was more important than fancy offices for the brass. On Earth it would have been the opposite. The soldiers might be armed with sticks and stones, but the top generals would have a palace for their HQ.
He had no idea what to expect. He was already far from familiar ground. Even traveling alone was new. He’d been born to a powerful political family, and he’d entered the army as a major. As long as he could remember, he’d been surrounded by servants and aides. Now it was just him. He was a little lost, but the self-sufficiency felt good too. He was beginning to realize that, for the first time in his life, he was happy.
He’d gotten a message through to Holm, offering his services in any capacity the general may want. He checked into the Armstrong Hotel and waited. He’d been there two days when he was instructed to report to General Gilson at Marine HQ. Perhaps she was going to discuss ways he could contribute to the war effort. Or maybe she was going to arrest him and charge him with war crimes on Arcadia. Whatever it was, he’d find out soon enough.
He walked up to the guard station. There was a small booth situated about a meter in front of the perimeter fence. The guard post, the fencing…it all had a temporary look to it, as if it were thrown into place as quickly as possible. “Isaac Merrick to see General Catherine Gilson.”
The guard was dressed in neat gray fatigues with corporal’s insignia on his arm. There was a sharpness, an alertness to him that Merrick had never seen in his own troops. These Marines, he thought, are crackerjack troops. He was glad he’d only had to face a small, scratch-assembled force of them on Arcadia. They’d torn his units to shreds anyway.