The Fall: Crimson Worlds IX Read Online Free PDF Page B

troops into the combat zone.  Eventually, he realized, if his forces became any weaker, even the battered Europans would reorganize and launch their own offensive.
    He stared down at the orders he held in his hand.  He’d read them three times already, but he found his eyes panning across the small ‘pad again.  He understood the reality behind the directive, but he still couldn’t bring himself to believe what he was reading.  He was to launch an immediate offensive to take the Europan capital of Paris, and he was authorized to use unlimited tactical and intermediate ranged nuclear weapons against any military targets, without consideration to civilian casualties.
    Both sides had used nukes in the war, but they had been targeted and sporadic.  Werner’s orders called for a massive pre-attack bombardment, one that shattered the Europan defensive positions and their logistical centers behind the front.  There would be millions of civilian casualties, no matter how carefully he targeted the strikes.  He could only guess at the probable response, and how it would affect his advancing armies…and the rest of the world.
    He felt a flush of anger toward the high command in Neu-Brandenburg, but he realized they had no choice.  The CEL couldn’t fight the Europans and the RIC at the same time, and the Alliance wasn’t in a position to offer anything beyond minimal support.  Taking out Europa Federalis was the only way the CEL could survive.  If they knocked out their western enemy, they could consolidate their forces on the eastern front and hold out against the growing RIC pressure.  It was a desperate plan, one he wanted to oppose.  But he couldn’t think of an alternative.
    “Come here, Major.”  He shouted to his longtime aide.
    Potsdorf had been with him since his days as a battalion commander.  Then a lieutenant, he had followed Werner through his meteoric rise in rank, continuing to serve as his aide at each level of command.
    “Yes, General.”  Potsdorf was running over, moving as quickly as he could in the deep muck of the trench.  The aide was a tall man, with close-cropped blonde hair and a grim face.  He stopped in front of the theater commander and stood at attention.
    “Read this, Potsdorf.”  He handed the ‘pad to his surprised aide.
    “My God, sir.”  Potsdorf was still reading, but he’d gotten the gist of the order in the first few seconds.  “This is a massive escalation.”
    “Indeed it is, Major.”  There was a sadness in Werner’s voice.  He was a soldier, and he would carry out his orders, but he couldn’t help but think he was committing suicide as well.  For him and for his soldiers, and possibly for the civilians back home too.  The Europans would almost certainly respond in kind, and a battlefield that was already a nightmare would become a blasted, radioactive hell.  What happened next rested with the politicians, but that was cold comfort to Werner.  “But those are our orders, so we’d better do everything we can to make sure the troops are ready.”  He took a deep breath.  “Because we’re about to unleash hell.”
     
    Ryan Warren’s head was pounding.  He reached around and massaged the back of his neck, feeling the hard tightness of the knotted muscles under his fingers.  He glanced at the chronometer.  He’d been at his desk for almost 15 hours, but he wasn’t even close to done.  There was a half-eaten sandwich sitting off to the side of workstation, the only food he’d touched all day.  It had been there for hours, and the edges were dried out and stale.  A stone cold cup of coffee, missing only a few sips, sat next to the plate, equally forgotten.
    Warren had lost 10 kilos since he had taken over Gavin Stark’s job, and he wondered how that master spy had seemed to handle his myriad responsibilities with such effortless grace.  He suspected now that had been at least somewhat of a façade, that Stark’s brilliant leadership had