The Siege of Earth (The Ember War Saga Book 7)

  The Siege of Earth

  The Ember War Saga Book 7

  by

  Richard Fox

  Copyright © by Richard Fox

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

  ASIN: B01IJI8UCY

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  IRON HEARTS

  CHAPTER 1

  From the cold void between the stars, Earth’s reckoning approached. A dusty gray sphere almost the size of Earth’s moon, its surface broken up by circular portholes the size of cities and pitted by micro-meteorite strikes, slowed to a stop near Pluto. The orbits of the moons Hydra and Kerebos altered as the new arrival’s gravity threw off the dance maintained around the dwarf planet since long before the birth of humanity.

  When Admiral Makarov’s Eighth Fleet first encountered the sphere, they named it for an angel of destruction that commanded an army of locusts: Abaddon. The battles that followed in the hours after the discovery claimed the lives of every man and woman in the fleet.

  From a distance, Abaddon looked as if wrapped in a symmetrical black web. The web sloughed off the planetoid as the millions of Xaros drones that formed the object’s propulsion system uncoupled after their long journey from Barnard’s Star. Portholes across the surface opened and millions more drones poured from the interior like wasps evacuating a hive. Drones flew together so closely a person could have walked from one drone to another across the hundreds of miles spanning the entire length.

  Inside Abaddon, the conduit connecting the hollowed-out moon to the rest of the Xaros network flared to life. Red plates of armor floating in the center of the command sphere formed into a humanoid shape. Tiny links of chain-mail armor grew between the plates, forming a containment vessel ready to receive the General.

  The General’s essence flowed into the armor. Bright light glowed beneath the thin eye slits of his facemask.

  He floated from the plinth and stretched his mind through his drones, absorbing everything they’d collected on the human defenders.

  Workstations flashed to life around the General, showing orbital emplacements around Earth, moons of the outer gas giants, and a sizable fleet over a cold, dusty red planet.

  The General looked through the data a second time, examined the waste heat coming off fortifications and double-checked the data his drones had collected the first time they wiped this solar system clean of the humans’ polluting presence and what he’d pulled from Torni’s mind while she’d been his prisoner.

  There were too many ships. The human fleets were an order of magnitude greater than what he’d defeated in the void just beyond Barnard’s Star, and that was the last of what had survived when the humans returned and recaptured their home world.

  The humans could only breed so quickly. Everything he saw arrayed against him across the solar system was in stark contrast to what he knew the humans had and were capable of producing in the years since their return.

  The General’s armor burned brighter as anger coursed through him. The conclusion was inescapable: he’d been tricked. The humans were stronger than he thought possible, and he’d burned through much of the potential combat power within Abaddon’s mass to reach Earth before the humans could ready their defenses.

  He—the one chosen by the Xaros Masters to cleanse this galaxy of its indigenous intelligent life to pave the way for the rest of his kind’s glorious arrival—had blundered into a battle not of his design. His drone armadas had annihilated intelligent species through much of the galaxy through a combination of advanced technology and sheer weight of numbers. Had he known the true scope of the humans’ defenses he would have brought three transports the size of Abaddon to Earth and been assured an easy victory.

  But what he did have…he ran simulations through the computers around him and found his chance of victory almost even with defeat.

  He considered leaving his drones to their programming, let them bleed the humans white while he went back to organize another assault force, but to show such contempt for the humans would be a mistake. They were a dangerous foe and he was still unsure what they had removed from the ancient vault hidden deep within the vast nothingness of interstellar space.

  No. He would defeat the humans here and now. If Keeper learned of the difficulties he’d encountered while defeating one race of upright mammals that paled in comparison to the might of galactic empires his drones had crushed before reaching the Earth…His position with the peers was tenuous at best. Anything but a simple march across the stars would make him look weak.

  He would not leave this battle to chance. He broke off a segment of his total force to sow victory. Even if he lost the main fleet to the humans, it wouldn’t matter. The entire galaxy was full of his drones, and he would bring that strength to bear quickly and decisively.

  A line made up of thousands of drones broke away from the end of the column as the drones left Abaddon. The splinter force made for Pluto.

  CHAPTER 2

  In their rec room, Hale’s Marines crowded around a wall screen filled with the night side of Earth, a live feed from one of the many cameras and telescopes mounted around the Breitenfeld. The glare of cities ran through the mountain ranges of Japan, Australia and Korea. Tiny pinpricks of light from cargo shuttles stretched from Earth to orbital platforms and space stations.

  Egan clicked a button on a remote and the image changed to the space above the North Pole. Hundreds of warships waited at anchor as dozens of cargo ships cycled into and out of a blocky supply ship.

  “OK,” Standish said, “none of this was here when we left, right?”

  “There must be millions of people down there.” Bailey stood on her tiptoes to peer over Orozco’s shoulder. “Crikey, the lights are on in Darwin.”

  “We must have done the time warp again,” Standish said.

  “We did. Malal put us in stasis for a couple years until he and Torni could fix the jump engines,” Yarrow said. “Didn’t you and Bailey get all freaked out when you saw Eighth Fleet on Hawaii? Same explanation. All those lights…got to be proccies.”

  “How could Ibarra have made so many?” Orozco stroked his chin.

  “I guess it depends on how many tubes he has,” Yarrow said, “and how fast he can make more tubes. It takes nine days to grow a proccie, right?”

  “Little birdie told me there were fifty thousand tubes left after the Toth came for a visit,” Standish said. “By ‘little birdie’ I mean one of Admiral Garret’s aides who could not hold his liquor.”

  “And if Ibarra’s been making even more tubes at, say, ten percent a growth period…” Yarrow tapped on his forearm screen and frowned. “That can’t be right.”

  “I didn’t join the Marines to do
math, new guy. Spit it out,” Standish said.

  “It’s like we’re bacteria. The growth curve is exponential,” Yarrow said.

  “Meaning?” Orozco crossed his massive arms across his chest.

  “‘Exponential’ a big English word you don’t know?” Standish gave the Spaniard a quick poke to the ribs. Orozco laid a meaty hand on the back of Standish’s neck. “Because I sure don’t know what it means. Help a brother out, Yarrow.”

  “Everything depends on how fast Ibarra could build tubes. Look at that fleet.” Yarrow nodded at the ships anchored over the North Pole. “Two supercarriers, half a dozen strike carriers like the Breitenfeld. Enough guns to slag everything from Moscow to Warsaw in an afternoon. You think building a tube would be hard for Ibarra?”

  “If the solar system’s full of proccie bad assess, then why was Admiral Garret’s staff walking around on eggshells when the big man showed up?” Bailey asked.

  “Doesn’t help that our ship’s on commo blackout, does it?” Standish looked at Egan, the team’s communications specialist. “If only someone we knew could access the telemetry channels back to Titan Station and tap into the restricted data feeds.”

  Standish leaned toward Egan. “If only he’d tap into the smoke line and let our Ubis synch up with the cloud servers.”

  Egan backed away. “How do you know about that? I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The smoke line is real?” Orozco asked.

  “There’s no such thing.” Egan shook his head.

  “Really, Egan? After all we’ve been through, you’re going to play this game with us?” Standish asked.

  “You son of a…fine.” Egan flicked his fingertips across his forearm screen and started tapping. “There’s a way around the blackout. It’s supposed to be a trade secret,” he said, flashing Standish a dirty look. “Commo guys have had secret channels since the early days of radio, gives us a way to talk to each other when we need to. Don’t go broadcasting this all over the ship. Word’ll get back that it was me that spilled the beans and then I’m in a world of hurt.”

  “Synching.” Bailey’s eyes lit up as she looked at her screen.

  “Hey, we’re getting paid again! Four years of back pay just hit my account.” A smile spread across Standish’s face.

  “Wait…I’ve got almost nothing in my account.” Yarrow tapped his screen several times. “A garnishment? What the hell? This some sort of proccie tax?”

  “I got paid everything,” said Egan, a procedurally generated human being, just like Yarrow, “even my flight bonus.”

  “This is bullshit!” Yarrow kicked a waste bin across the room.

  “Settle down, new guy.” Standish gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Not like we can buy anything right now. Plus, I’ll spot you a few bucks. Three points a month. You pay at least ten percent of what you owe every three weeks or I break a finger.”

  “Piss off, Standish.” Yarrow pulled away and swiped across his screen several times. He tapped his screen, then froze in place.

  “Combat pay and everything,” Bailey said. “We go on shore leave again and I am going to get so shit-faced that…why is Yarrow so pale?”

  Standish snapped his fingers next to Yarrow’s ear. The medic didn’t respond.

  “New guy,” Standish said, waving his hand in front of Yarrow’s face. “Earth to new guy. What’s the deal?” Standish peered over Yarrow’s arm. “Look at that—it’s your girl, Lilith…and she had a baby. She had a baby?”

  Yarrow sank down onto a bench, his mouth trembling.

  “Yarrow…” Orozco shook his head slowly. “You dog.”

  “She says I have a daughter.” Yarrow looked up. “Found out she was pregnant after we left for the mission with Malal. They’re in Phoenix…she needed money so she put in for child support and there are hundreds of messages from her. And pictures. And my little girl is named Mary.” His eyes rolled up and he slumped to the side.

  Egan caught him before he could fall over.

  “Who wants to tell Gunney Cortaro about this?” Standish asked.

  “We tell him and he’ll want to know how we found out,” Bailey said. “Maybe we keep this our little secret for a bit. Doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate. You have cigars, Standish?”

  “What, are you crazy? Of course I have cigars. And booze.” Standish gave Yarrow a none-too-gentle slap on the cheek. “But I think new guy’s going to need a lot more than liver abuse to get through this.”

  CHAPTER 3

  A Destrier flew through the red haze of a Martian dust storm. Floodlights diffused through the blowing dust creating a glare beneath the heavy transport as it slowed over a landing pad.

  More dust kicked up as the ship’s thrusters brought it to a halt against the expanse of black stone. The ship’s landing gear settled down, compressing against the Destrier’s bulk as the thrusters died away.

  The fore ramp lowered and the Iron Hearts set foot on the red planet. Technicians and mechanics unlimbered equipment from the cargo bay as the three armor soldiers made their way to a diminutive figure waiting at a roadway leading to an open sally port built into the side of Olympus Mons.

  “Hello!” said the man in a lightly armored space suit as he ran up to the Iron Hearts. “I am Mr. Dinkins, Adjutants Core, at your service.” He flipped the cover off a tablet and removed a stylus from a pocket attached to his breastplate.

  “I’ll need your full names, serial numbers and dates of your last mandatory training—” Dinkins looked up and saw the Iron Hearts walking toward the mountain. He scampered after the armor, struggling to keep up with the gait of the fifteen-foot-tall suits.

  “Hello? Can you hear me? This Martian atmosphere is so thin,” Dinkins said, waving to Kallen.

  The armor continued.

  “Yes, sorry. I simply must have this information before you go any farther.” Dinkins tapped his slate against Kallen’s leg.

  She stopped.

  “Thank you. I need your last—” He garbled his last words as Kallen grabbed him by the ankles and lifted him into the air. She dangled him, upside down, in front of her helm.

  “Carius,” she said.

  Pens and mechanical pencils fell off Dinkins as he swung gently in Kallen’s grasp.

  “Unhand me! This is most—” he squealed as Kallen dropped him. She grabbed him by the ankles again before his skull could reach the ground.

  “Carius,” she said again.

  “He’s inside! Bay three-seven!” Dinkins bent at the waist and grabbed Kallen’s finger. She released his ankles and the adjutant held on by his fingertips. Kallen lowered her hand and flicked him away.

  By the time Dinkins found his tablet, the Iron Hearts were at the entrance to the cavern cut into the biggest mountain in the solar system.

  The sally port could have fit five armor soldiers abreast. Heavy doors with rock facades and layers of quadrium and reinforced metal hung from massive hinges. Inside, six-wheeled trucks armed with gauss rotary cannons lined the walls. Suited mechanics and Marines in ochre power armor loaded boxes of bullets onto the trucks while others performed last-minute maintenance on the vehicles.

  The hangar buzzed with activity…until the Iron Hearts walked past. The room fell quiet, many pointing at the armor and whispering to each other.

  “You think they take their admin crap that seriously on Mars?” Bodel said over their private channel.

  “Maybe they’ve never seen armor before,” Kallen said.

  “Can’t be. There are coffin units in the next hallway,” Elias said, “and we know Carius is here.”

  “I don’t like being stared at,” Bodel said. The soldier had been moody, shy even since he was injured defending the Dotok world of Takeni. He’d suffered a stroke, one that left him with a half-slack face and a weakness through the right half of his body.

  “There’s nothing subtle about us in armor. Let’s find Carius,” Kallen said.

  An access tunnel connected to the ba
ck of the hangar curved away in a gentle arc. The center was busy with motor traffic shuttling supplies and personnel. The Iron Hearts strode along the outer edge.

  “They were busy while we were away,” Bodel said.

  “You think this highway goes all the way around Olympus?” Kallen asked.

  A trio of armor soldiers walked toward the Iron Hearts. Elias slammed a fist against his chest in salute as they passed. The lead armor returned the courtesy.

  “Vladislav’s Hussars,” Elias said.

  “Haven’t seen armor since the Smoking Snakes.” Bodel’s helm twisted around and looked over the rotary cannons attached to the Hussars’ backs opposite their rail cannons. “Would be nice to catch up with the others. Find out about their new toys.”

  The Iron Hearts crossed the highway and stopped at a set of tall doors labeled BAY 37.

  The doors swung open and the Iron Hearts stepped into an air lock. Once an Earth-normal atmosphere surrounded them, the inner doors opened.

  Workstations showing Mars from orbit and segments of the surface were manned by tired-looking men and women from the different military branches. None batted an eye at the Iron Hearts’ arrival. A suit of armor held tight in a coffin stood at the end of the bay next to a platform that reached up to the armor’s chest.

  A man in plain fatigues and with long white hair that hung loose off his shoulders stood in front of a screen, his arms clasped behind his back. The glint of neural plugs in the base of the old man’s skull twinkled in the low light.

  Elias went to the platform, snapped his heels together and struck his fist against his heart.

  “Colonel Carius,” Elias said.

  The man picked up a cane leaning against the big screen and turned around. He leaned against the cane and returned Elias’ salute. Elias’ gaze went to the cane, polished metal taken from the commanding officer of the Chinese People’s Army Armored Corps after the Battle of Aurukun. General Zhi hadn’t complained—not that he could have after Carius ripped him clean out of his armor.