“You’re going to be my escort to the ball, in two weeks,” Archer said. “Make sure you wear something nice.”
“I ... I don’t know how to dance,” Rachel managed. She had had dancing lessons, but they’d been a very long time ago. “I ... I thank you, but ...”
Archer leaned forward until she could smell his breath. “You’ll come with me or you’ll go to the front.”
Bastard, Rachel thought. He’d not only given her a fright, a fright that had nearly gotten him killed, he’d decided to blackmail her too. She was tempted to laugh in his face and see what happened, but ... I need to be here.
“As you command, My Lord,” she said. She tried to look alluring. “Perhaps you could teach me how to dance.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Archer said. He kissed her, hard enough to smear her make-up. “Now, get back to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. Archer was going to pay. She’d make sure of it. “I’ll get back to work at once.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Whatever the government does, it will be caught between those two poles. If it cancels benefits, however described, it will be accused of committing a grave injustice. If it gives benefits to people who manifestly do not deserve them, it is also committing a grave injustice.
- Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism
Thaddeus sat in solitude.
It was impossible to know who to trust, now. The riots that had swept through the city - and over the entire planet - were a grim reminder the government’s rule rested on force. The chaos had been shocking, all the more so for it being completely unprecedented. The security forces had been outmatched, unable to respond to more than a slight percentage of the incidents. Thaddeus knew it wouldn’t be long before there was another cycle of riots. The people knew, now, that they were no longer being monitored. The omnipresent - and omnipotent - state had been broken. The people could say or do whatever they liked with little fear of punishment.
And we need to put dozens of men on the streets for each and every little arrest, he thought, darkly. The population no longer bent the knee to men in uniform. Entire districts had turned into no-go zones overnight. We just don’t have the manpower to keep the cities under control.
His expression darkened as he looked at the latest set of reports without seeing a word. A wave of incidents, from stabbings and shootings to outright bombings. Men throwing rocks at policemen or swarming them by sheer weight of numbers; women seducing the policemen long enough to bury knives in their guts; kids destroying or blinding security monitors that would have to be replaced before the security systems could be brought back online. It was starting to look as though the marines - or someone - had decided to mount a terrorist campaign within the city, wearing down his forces and making them look weak. Each successful attack inspired two or three more.
His terminal bleeped. “Director,” General Gilbert said. “Everything is in place. We’re ready to mount the operation.”
Thaddeus nodded, sourly. He’d hoped to play a waiting game, buying enough time for the fleet to return, take control of the high orbitals and smash the marines from orbit. The idea of risking everything on one throw of the dice was anathema to him. And yet, they had no choice. They wanted - they needed - a clear victory before the cities collapsed completely, before his enemies made a bid to take control of the system. The marines had to be crushed, then the troops redeployed before it was too late. His hands shook as he keyed the terminal. He’d thought himself prepared for the post-Earthfall universe, but he was wrong. The old rules were gone. They were never coming back.
“Do it,” he ordered. There was nothing to be gained from making a fanciful speech. The historians would put words in his mouth, once the fighting was over. “And don’t screw up.”
“Yes, sir,” Gilbert said.
Thaddeus closed the connection and scowled at the blank screen. Could Gilbert be trusted? Could anyone be trusted? The system was steadily breaking down. His closest allies would be looking for ways to jump ship, if someone else managed to gain control. Thaddeus didn’t blame them - one didn’t blame rats for doing what rats did - but that wouldn’t stop him from punishing them if he kept his post. They’d know it, too. The old rules were definitely dead and gone. He wouldn’t be sent into exile, if he lost power. He’d be killed by his own side.
He stood. It was time to go to the war room. He’d monitor the operation and, if it failed ...
It isn’t going to fail, he told himself. There was no point in drawing up contingency plans for defeat. Failure would lead, rapidly and mercilessly, to his execution. We’re going to win.
***
Haydn frowned as the marines punched through a defence line and paused to gather themselves before pushing on. It had been a hard few days, an endless succession of enemy strongpoints, IEDs and brief ambushes designed to make the marines waste time clearing the trenches rather than stop them completely. He rubbed his eyes as he peered into the distance, wishing - again - that the company could rotate to the rear for a couple of days. They’d been fighting almost constantly for the last few days and it was taking a bitter toll.
A pair of tanks rumbled forward, advancing down the motorway. Haydn could hear gunfire in the distance, followed by an explosion. The enemy had been learning, for all that half the men they’d killed or captured had been untrained recruits. They’d sniped at the marines from a distance, they’d rigged houses to blow ... they’d even managed, somehow, to put an IED under the motorway and flip a giant tank onto its back. Haydn would have been impressed, if they hadn’t forced the marines to slow long enough to repair the road. The logistics chain was on the verge of breaking completely.
He felt his heart sink as he surveyed the town ahead of them. It was larger than the earlier hamlets, dozens of homes and bigger buildings scattered around a set of roads and parks that had clearly been dug up and turned into strongpoints. The enemy probably had hundreds of mortars hidden within the town, just waiting to rain shells on the advancing troops. Haydn’s company was backed up by self-propelled guns - they’d lost their reluctance to fire into populated areas long ago - but the enemy had point-defence systems in place too. He was sure of it. They wouldn’t let the marines silence their gunners that easily.
And they probably have orders to fire a couple of shells and shift positions, he thought, as he turned to look at his men. It’s what we’d do.
Haydn gritted his teeth. The company had been hit hard in the last couple of days, then merged with two more companies into a single oversized unit. Marines were trained to swap companies at short notice, but there were limits. Too many of his men didn’t know their new fellows. He would have sold his soul for the chance to run a training exercise, where the only real danger was being castigated for gross incompetence, but it wasn’t going to happen. They had to keep the pressure on, rather than risk giving the enemy a chance to rally. He had no doubt the bastards were prepping the megacity for a long, drawn-out resistance. It was what he would have done, if he didn’t have a trained army under his command. An urban environment would maximise the enemy’s advantages, while minimising their weaknesses. And countless civilians would be killed in the fighting.
Mayberry came up behind him and held out a packet of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
“No, thank you,” Haydn said. He’d never liked the habit. “You heard anything through the grapevine?”
“Nothing, beyond the insistence we should keep the pressure on,” Mayberry said. “You think we can outflank the town?”
Haydn scowled. Leaving an enemy position in his rear struck him as a bad idea. The enemy could sneak out, cut the supply lines and then block his line of retreat. And yet ... reducing the town was going to take time and effort. He wondered, idly, if he could convince the spacers to smash the town from orbit. They’d been deploying KEWs over the last few days, he’d heard. Picking through the rubble would be easier than taking the town building by building.
We
knew we’d start hitting really built-up areas sooner or later, he told himself. And now, we have.
“I think we need reinforcements,” he said, finally. “And probably a great deal more cover.”
He sighed. The enemy had set up a very effective antiaircraft system. The drones he normally relied upon to watch their movements were effectively useless. The flyboys were making attempt to crack the system, but a couple had already been lost. Haydn knew he was advancing blind into terrain the enemy knew very well. Perhaps. He doubted they’d planned for a full-scale invasion. They’d assumed the orbital defences would be enough to keep any prospective opponent from landing troops.
His hand dropped to his belt and unhooked the canteen. The water tasted oddly flat, but he drank it anyway. They really were on the edge. He made a mental note to suggest the advance be slowed, if not halted, long enough to let his men catch their breath. None of their gains could be considered really secure, not yet. On paper, the marines had occupied a vast swathe of enemy territory. In practice, their control was so thin it might as well not exist.
As long as we keep the pressure on, we can keep them from striking back, he thought. He heard another series of explosions in the distance and frowned. But if we don’t get more men on the ground quickly ...
***
Lieutenant Ginny Patel gritted her teeth as she flew as low as she dared, passive sensors watching warily for signs of enemy contact. She, of everyone in the unit, knew the danger of letting the enemy have a clear shot at her. She’d been shot down once before, on Hameau, and she’d been very lucky to survive. Her former co-pilot hadn’t been so lucky. She still had nightmares, sometimes, about a burning airframe and the time she’d spent in captivity. It was surprising she’d been allowed to return to active duty immediately, even though the corps was short on manpower. Normally, they’d be months of psych tests to make sure the enemy hadn’t conditioned her before she was recovered by friendly forces.
She peered into the semi-darkness as the Raptor darted over an enemy town. It looked deserted, but the IR sensors picked up heat sources in the buildings. Ginny logged the details, adding them to the treasure trove of data being prepared for transmission. She didn’t dare open a channel, not yet. Microbursts were supposed to be impossible to detect, but the enemy sensors were alarmingly good. They’d blown a dozen drones out of the air when they’d crossed the front lines, almost certainly because they’d been transmitting at the time. Ginny knew better. She’d only open the channel when she knew she was on the verge of being fired upon.
Her eyes narrowed as she picked up more and more hints of enemy activity. They were operating under a strict blackout - standard procedure, when the enemy knew what to watch for - but there were enough emissions to worry her. The sensors pinged an alarm as she flew over a troop of tanks, a troop that really shouldn’t have been there. She yanked the Raptor to one side as a missile shot past her ... the shot had come completely out of nowhere. She barked a command to the automated systems, ordering it to start transmitting as quickly as possible. The enemy had to have been tracking her on passive sensors, then ...
She swore as she saw the sheer mass of enemy vehicles and soldiers for the first time. They were advancing along a broad front themselves, trying to take the marines in the side ... her blood ran cold as she realised they’d managed to gain a certain degree of surprise. Her warning was already going out, but ... she flipped a switch, arming her antitank rockets as she swooped down. The enemy guns were traversing rapidly, not quickly enough. She smiled as she saw a handful of vehicles exploding, then darted to one side as a hail of bullets shot though where she’d been. The enemy advance had been slowed, but ...
Alerts flashed in front of her as the enemy self-propelled guns opened fire. Mobile missile launchers opened fire a second later, their missiles either climbing high to seek out targets or flying low to avoid point defence fire. Ginny winced in sympathy. The marines were going to take one hell of a pasting. She allowed the automated systems to fire on the enemy troops, expending what remained of her ammunition. She had no illusions. It wouldn’t slow the enemy down for long, but ...
Keep dodging, she told herself. There was no longer any point in trying to hide. Her active sensors noted and logged the enemy push in great detail, then forwarded it to higher authority. Don’t let them get a clear shot ...
She cursed as another wave of enemy shells flashed through the air. It was already too late. The enemy troops were on the move ... and there was nothing she could do, any longer, to so much as slow them down.
***
Haydn’s terminal bleeped an alert, an instant before the first wave of enemy shells crashed down on their position. He hit the ground as explosions filled the sky, the point defence lasers picking off hundreds of shells before they could reach their targets. But there were so many shells and missiles ... the ground heaved, violently, as dozens of shells slammed down on their heads. Missiles followed, crashing down amongst the point defence units. Haydn swallowed a curse as he looked up, just in time to see a missile strike one of the tanks. An armoured vehicle that had shrugged off IEDs and gunfire exploded into a fireball so hot Haydn knew there was no point in searching for survivors.
He rolled over, snatching up his rifle as more and more shells cascaded down behind him. The enemy had played it smart, he acknowledged sourly. The point defence units needed to cover the marines at the sharp end, but in doing so they were exposing themselves to enemy attack. A missile rushed over his head and crashed down, somewhere in the distance. He saw a flash of light, followed by another fireball. A crack of thunder reached his ears a second or two later. There’d been a point defence unit there, if he recalled correctly. It wasn’t there any longer. He dreaded to think how much damage the enemy had done in the opening bombardment.
And we’re spread too thin, he thought. He heard the sound of vehicles in the distance and turned, just in time to see a line of aircars and hovertrucks emerge from the town. They had no place on a battlefield ... his blood ran cold as he realised they might be makeshift VBIEDs, each one packed to the gunwales with explosives. The enemy wouldn’t have any problems churning out enough explosives to fill their entire fleet ... They’d going to give us one hell of a kick in the ass.
“Don’t let them get any closer,” he shouted. Normally, they’d hesitate to fire on civilian vehicles. Now ... they had no choice. “Take them down ...”
An aircar exploded, setting off a chain reaction. Haydn found himself sitting on the ground, unsure of quite what had happened. There was a smouldering crater where the aircars had been ... the nearest buildings looked as if they’d been struck by an angry giant. In the distance, he could see enemy tanks advancing out of what remained of the town. The entire front line had been battered beyond repair. His terminal bleeped an alert, too late. Enemy forces were advancing from the north as well as the south ... he realised, numbly, they were on the verge of being trapped in a vise. They were royally fucked.
He snapped orders, directing the antitank gunners to hit the tanks while the rest of the company prepared to run. They wouldn’t slow the enemy for long, but every second counted. They had to get out of the trap before the jaws slammed shut. Haydn knew they didn’t have the supplies to hold out, once they were trapped. There were heroic stories of men who’d been trapped in cauldrons and fighting to delay or escape the enemy, but those men had been armed to the teeth. And they’d often had longer to make their preparations. He had little more than a few seconds, at best. A handful of enemy tanks exploded into fireballs, but there were more right behind them. Bullets zipped through the air as they hosed the marine positions. Their shooting wasn’t very accurate, but it didn’t have to be.
Haydn keyed his throatmike and snapped out an update. The first moments of an enemy offensive were always chaotic, but Major-General Anderson and his staff would be working frantically to establish what was going on and take control. They needed to know the front line was breaking ... no, that it had br
oken. Haydn swore inwardly as he barked more orders, men hurrying towards the rear as fast as they could while keeping their heads low. There wasn’t any hope of stopping the enemy, not short of Roxon. They hadn’t given any thought to preparing a proper defence line.
And we tore up the landscape pretty good during the march up, he thought, grimly. We don’t have a hope of preparing strongpoints because we smashed all the potential strongpoints ourselves.
He glanced up as a flight of aircraft roared overhead, dropping bombs on a marine tanker unit. A pair of missiles rose up, blowing their targets out of the sky, but the remainder banked and escaped before they could be fired upon. The bastards had husbanded forces ruthlessly, he noted. It sounded as if they were advancing all along the front, as well as trying to trap the marines. He would have been more impressed if he wasn’t on the verge of being trapped.
“Pass the word,” he ordered, as the company kept moving. He could hear enemy troops behind him, feel shells passing through the air as they sought out targets in the distance. “No one is to stop until we get out of the trap.”
But he knew, all too well, that it might already be too late.
Chapter Thirty
The blunt truth is that ordered societies simply do not work. People act in their own self-interest - or, at least, what they think is their self-interest. They do not have a dedication to the vast majority of society, particularly when that dedication comes at the expense of their lives. They will not put the interests of society ahead of themselves. Indeed, a wise society will always bear in mind the interests of those who produce.
- Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism
“We just received word from Captain Jalil,” Lieutenant Yu reported. “His company is overwhelmed. He’s requesting permission to surrender.”
Major-General Anderson said nothing as he studied the display. The fog of war had enveloped the battlefield, to the point that far too many icons in front of him represented nothing more than educated guesswork, but the overall picture was all too clear. The enemy were advancing rapidly, their spearheads aimed at the weakest parts of the marine line. It was cunning, he admitted sourly. They’d timed it well. He had no choice but to order an immediate retreat if he wanted to preserve his men.
The Halls of Montezuma Page 28