him—about 6,000 ground troops in total—and preliminary scanning reports suggested the Spears had roughly the same. Of course, his people were invading, and their enemies were down there, dug in and waiting.
He was stressed, worried about the campaign, and his anger toward his rivals was gnawing at him. But there was something else too, something he couldn’t put out of his mind. Tom Sparks had researched the debris he’d brought back from Karelia, and he’d confirmed the few bits and pieces came from state of the art fighting suits, as good or nearly so as the Mark VIII units his people wore. But there was no indication of who had fielded units so equipped or why they had ambushed a party of his troopers. He’d reluctantly accepted the likelihood that his missing people were dead, though it had still stabbed at him to leave Karelia without being sure. He’d hoped Sparks would be able to ID the source of the equipment, but the brilliant scientist had been stumped.
Now he was facing another anomaly, something else that didn’t make sense, and on the very next campaign. Cain always researched his opponents thoroughly, and he didn’t make mistakes. If it had been remotely feasible, possible even, for the Lysandrians to hire a company as costly as the Spears, he would have known it. Events were never entirely predictable, but this was the second consecutive campaign that had him analyzing bizarre occurrences. Darius Cain didn’t believe in much, and certainly not coincidences. Something was going on. He had no idea what it was, not even a starting point. But he knew there was some kind of trouble coming.
“Erik told me you were going down with the first wave?” The familiar voice came from behind. He turned and saw Ana Bazarov walking up behind him. He usually had a smile for her, but he was too troubled this time, and he just nodded. “Yes,” he replied simply. Cain had become quite fond of the refugee since he’d saved her from a brutal assault on Karelia. Even he didn’t understand the effect she had on him, but the thought of seeing her hurt—or left behind on a planet destined for servitude and economic depression—was something he’d found upsetting, and he’d taken her with him when the Eagles departed.
She’d been hostile to him at first, feeling she’d merely traded one assailant for another. But when it became apparent he had no intention of harming her or her sister, she began to warm up to him, slowly at first. Now there was real warmth in her voice, and worry as she thought of him leading his vanguard into the teeth of heavy resistance. The news that the Gold Spears were waiting down on the surface had spread rapidly through the fleet.
“Why?” she asked softly, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “You don’t usually land with the first wave, do you?”
He felt an urge to pull away from her, but it vanished quickly, replaced by the calm feeling she usually gave him. He resisted his initial impulse to snap back at her. He was tense, and his mind was deep in thought, trying to understand what was going on. Darius Cain had a paranoia as strong as his father’s. He was sure the suspicion he felt was warranted, but his efforts to develop a hypothesis had so far produced only frustration. He was fond of Ana, perhaps even infatuated, but he didn’t have time for her now.
“I land at whatever point I feel is best for the operation. When I drop later, it is because it is tactically advisable to direct early operations from the fleet. Physical safety is not a concern in the decision. I am prepared to go anywhere I send my soldiers.”
“Shouldn’t you make sure your soldiers have secured the area before you land? I’m not military expert, but…”
“No,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended, “you are not a military expert.” He paused, softening his tone before he continued. “Look, Ana…”
He was stressed, worried about the campaign, and his anger toward his rivals was gnawing at him. But there was something else too, something he couldn’t put out of his mind. Tom Sparks had researched the debris he’d brought back from Karelia, and he’d confirmed the few bits and pieces came from state of the art fighting suits, as good or nearly so as the Mark VIII units his people wore. But there was no indication of who had fielded units so equipped or why they had ambushed a party of his troopers. He’d reluctantly accepted the likelihood that his missing people were dead, though it had still stabbed at him to leave Karelia without being sure. He’d hoped Sparks would be able to ID the source of the equipment, but the brilliant scientist had been stumped.
Now he was facing another anomaly, something else that didn’t make sense, and on the very next campaign. Cain always researched his opponents thoroughly, and he didn’t make mistakes. If it had been remotely feasible, possible even, for the Lysandrians to hire a company as costly as the Spears, he would have known it. Events were never entirely predictable, but this was the second consecutive campaign that had him analyzing bizarre occurrences. Darius Cain didn’t believe in much, and certainly not coincidences. Something was going on. He had no idea what it was, not even a starting point. But he knew there was some kind of trouble coming.
“Erik told me you were going down with the first wave?” The familiar voice came from behind. He turned and saw Ana Bazarov walking up behind him. He usually had a smile for her, but he was too troubled this time, and he just nodded. “Yes,” he replied simply. Cain had become quite fond of the refugee since he’d saved her from a brutal assault on Karelia. Even he didn’t understand the effect she had on him, but the thought of seeing her hurt—or left behind on a planet destined for servitude and economic depression—was something he’d found upsetting, and he’d taken her with him when the Eagles departed.
She’d been hostile to him at first, feeling she’d merely traded one assailant for another. But when it became apparent he had no intention of harming her or her sister, she began to warm up to him, slowly at first. Now there was real warmth in her voice, and worry as she thought of him leading his vanguard into the teeth of heavy resistance. The news that the Gold Spears were waiting down on the surface had spread rapidly through the fleet.
“Why?” she asked softly, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “You don’t usually land with the first wave, do you?”
He felt an urge to pull away from her, but it vanished quickly, replaced by the calm feeling she usually gave him. He resisted his initial impulse to snap back at her. He was tense, and his mind was deep in thought, trying to understand what was going on. Darius Cain had a paranoia as strong as his father’s. He was sure the suspicion he felt was warranted, but his efforts to develop a hypothesis had so far produced only frustration. He was fond of Ana, perhaps even infatuated, but he didn’t have time for her now.
“I land at whatever point I feel is best for the operation. When I drop later, it is because it is tactically advisable to direct early operations from the fleet. Physical safety is not a concern in the decision. I am prepared to go anywhere I send my soldiers.”
“Shouldn’t you make sure your soldiers have secured the area before you land? I’m not military expert, but…”
“No,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended, “you are not a military expert.” He paused, softening his tone before he continued. “Look, Ana…”
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