Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Producing poison gas,” Watson said, with a wink. “We had beans for breakfast, beans for lunch and beans for tea. I’m sure that violates some convention on the use of torture on prisoners.”

  Jasmine shrugged. Under the circumstances, Wolfbane had treated its POWs remarkably well. The Marine Corps had built up the determination never to let someone remain in enemy hands through a grim awareness that any prisoner was likely to be brutally tortured, then murdered. Insurgents throughout the Empire had known, after all, what was likely to happen to any of them who fell into enemy hands and they’d been happy to return the favour.

  And Admiral Singh tortured you, her own thoughts reminded her. You’ve been very lucky this time around.

  “Probably,” the doctor said. She paused. “On a different note, you don’t seem to have been stung with any tracking bugs, but the gear I have isn't too advanced. I may be wrong.”

  “I know,” Jasmine said. She thought they hadn’t been stung, but there was no way to be sure without mil-grade scanners and some luck. A bug could be so tiny it could only be seen with a microscope... “We’ll just have to take our chances.”

  “And so you will,” the doctor said. She turned towards the door, then stopped. “I’ll have some clothes sent in for you, then assign you to one of the huts. I assume you want to stay together?”

  “Yes, please,” Jasmine said.

  “Then you shall,” the doctor said. “I’d recommend a day of rest, but if you’re anything like Old Hans, you won’t want to stay still for a moment.”

  She walked out of the door. Moments later, Darrin walked in, accompanied by a heavyset man who looked as if he was running to fat. Jasmine eyed him carefully and noted that, despite his girth, he was definitely surprisingly quick and strong. And he had a stance that suggested he knew he was both liked and respected. In some ways, he reminded her of Colonel Stalker.

  “Jasmine, this is Scoutmaster Clarence,” Darrin said. “He’s in charge of the local section of the resistance.”

  Jasmine rose to her feet, then held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. Clarence took it and shook her hand firmly. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a scout.”

  Clarence smiled. “And were you ever a scout?”

  “Many Marines have been scouts,” Jasmine said. She’d never been one herself, but her homeworld hadn't really liked the creed of the Imperial Boy Scouts. “I was a Survivor myself.”

  “Ah, our dread rivals,” Clarence said. He gave her a smile that suggested he hadn't taken offense, then motioned for her to sit down. “As interesting as it would be to compare notes, I don’t think we have time. We need to talk, instead, about just how you wound up on this world - and why.”

  Jasmine nodded. “It’s a long story,” she said, “but I will do my best.”

  She hesitated, then started by outlining how the company had been exiled to Avalon - and how they’d started to build the Commonwealth to take the Empire’s place, now it was dead and gone. Clarence listened carefully, without interrupting, as she talked about the peace talks that had ended in failure, then the war on Thule. When she finished, he leaned forward and looked her in the eye.

  “Your Commonwealth,” he said. “Can it liberate our world?”

  “I think so,” Jasmine said, although in truth she knew it would be hard to be sure of anything now. Perhaps, once the POW camp was liberated, she would sit down with Stubbins and Paula and try to work out some hard numbers for Wolfbane. How many ships had been in the sector when Governor Brown had taken control? “But it may take years.”

  Clarence’s eyes narrowed. “How long?”

  “I don’t know,” Jasmine said. “The war was just starting when we were captured, sir. I don't think the Commonwealth will win or lose quickly; it may take years before one side gains a decisive advantage. The front will probably surge backwards and forwards hundreds of times before then.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could give you a timetable for the liberation of your world,” she added, “but I can't. All I can do is plan our escape and do it in a manner that ensures you can’t be blamed for helping us.”

  “I see,” Clarence said. “And what if we decided that it was too dangerous to risk allowing you to make a try for escape?”

  “We would respect your decision,” Jasmine lied. She knew she couldn't find a place to live on Meridian and stay out of the war, but she couldn't blame the resistance for having second thoughts about allowing them to risk the entire world. “If you truly wanted us to do nothing, we would find work here and stay out of sight.”

  Darrin took a step forward. “Wouldn't that get you in deep shit when you got home?”

  “Maybe,” Jasmine said. There was no maybe about it. Failing to try to escape could be considered a court martial offense. “But I won’t endanger your world without your permission.”

  “We will discuss the matter and make our decision known to you,” Clarence said. He rose to his feet. “Austin will show you to your hut. I would ask you to wait there until we have made up our minds.”

  Jasmine rose. “Of course,” she said. “We need to rest anyway.”

  She allowed Austin to lead her through the settlement and into a smaller hut, with a handful of blankets lying on the floor. There was no sign of anything else, apart from a primitive shower and toilet in the rear. She guessed that the scouts probably cleaned up their campsites pretty thoroughly, like the Marines had been taught during Escape And Evasion.

  “We’ll make sure Kailee is fine,” Austin promised as he turned to leave. “And I’ll have clothes sent to you.”

  “Please,” Stewart said. “My ass is going red from all the stares.”

  Austin smiled. “We don't normally have guests here,” he said. “You’re the first since this settlement was converted into a base camp.”

  Jasmine watched him go, then sighed. “Get some sleep,” she ordered. They were in seemingly friendly territory, but there was no point in taking risks. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Chapter Seven

  However, this tended to run into other problems. For example, the early attempts to codify the laws of war found it hard to identify soldiers. They wore uniforms, true, but what happened when they didn't wear uniforms?

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

  Avalon, Year 5 (PE)

  When I come to write my memoirs, Ed thought, as he stepped into the briefing room, I will leave this year out completely.

  He pasted a smile on his face as the councillors rose to greet him. It seemed that he spent half his time in meetings and the other half attending or giving briefings, either to councillors who didn't understand what he was talking about or reporters who - if considerably better than the reporters who had infested the Empire - seemed to think they had a need to know absolutely everything. At least the Commonwealth had some pretty strong penalties for reporters who learned something they shouldn't and told the entire universe. God alone knew how many enemy intelligence operations back in the old days had consisted of nothing more than scanning the Empire’s newspapers.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said, keeping his voice level. He’d dealt with worse people, including the Grand Senate, and most of the Commonwealth’s politicians had some real experience of the outside universe. They might be stubborn and suspicious of interstellar alliances, but they had some common sense. “If you will take your seats, we can begin.”

  He slid the datachip into the room’s processor, then turned to look at the councillors. None of them looked guilty, but one of them had to be a spy. Who? He glanced at Gordon Travis, who looked back at him with cool regard, then at Marilyn Morrison. The latter had a good record of keeping small businesses going, despite the wars with both the bandits and the Crackers. It seemed unlikely that she would betray her homeworld, but God knew just how many seemingly-loyal people had turned their coat. And then there was Thomas O’Rourke and Howard Malevich ... Ed honestly couldn't say he knew either
of them very well.

  O’Rourke is a farmer, he reminded himself, and not someone to take much interest in the outside universe. Malevich is a builder threatened by competition from the rest of the Commonwealth. Might they each have a separate motive to turn traitor?

  He sighed inwardly as he keyed the processor and displayed a holographic starchart in front of the assembled councillors. He’d trained to fight in battle, from stand-up encounters with the enemy to the far more common insurgencies launched in the midst of a civilian population, not to track down an enemy spy. No doubt whoever he was seeking was skilled in deceit ... he wished, suddenly, that there had been more time to assemble a counter-intelligence service before the war had started. But it was far too late for regrets. He’d played his cards the best he could and now all he could do was muddle through and hope for the best.

  While preparing for the worst, he thought, sardonically. And who knows what a witch-hunt will do to us?

  He could trust his fellow Marines, he knew. He could trust Gaby; if she’d wanted to sell out the Commonwealth, she could have done it without slipping information to the enemy. But who else could he trust? The remains of the Civil Guard? The Knights? Assorted local militia who felt they’d been overridden by the Commonwealth? The Traders? There were just too many places for a spy - or even a rumour of a spy - to cause havoc. It made him wonder if they’d been allowed to pick up the message, just to spread distrust and paranoia among his people ...

  Stop that, he told himself, firmly. He’d definitely been away from the battlefield for too long, even if he was needed on Avalon. Any more paranoia and you will go mad.

  “I am obliged to warn you that the following data is considered classified and must not be shared,” he said, without any other preamble. “Please don’t talk about it, even amongst yourselves, outside a sealed room. We cannot allow word to spread to the enemy.”

  He paused, then began.

  “The war front appears to be stabilising,” he said, although he knew that most of the reports were three weeks out of date. So far, no one - not even the Trade Federation - had been able to enhance FTL speeds, let alone send messages from star to star without a starship to carry them. “We lost control of Elder, councillors, but we regained control of Preston and successfully contested Elision. In Preston’s case, the Wolves were unable to secure control of the system before we evicted them.”

  He watched the councillors carefully as he went on. “There were two more long-range exchanges of fire between our respective task forces,” he continued, “but both engagements were inconclusive. In the first encounter, the enemy decided we had the advantage and saw fit to retreat; in the second, both sides were apparently evenly matched. There were several volleys of missile fire before both sides broke contact.

  “However, there have been signs that the Wolves have been probing the Harper system,” he said. That was true. “As we have stationed a mobile foundry in the system, to support our war effort, I have ordered the dispatch of an additional squadron to the system to provide cover if the foundry needs to be withdrawn.”

  And that, he knew, was not true. Harper was largely useless, at least until someone invested in a cloudscoop and several hundred thousand new colonists. There was nothing particularly special about the asteroid belt, while the settlers were largely farmers who paid their Commonwealth dues in food and drink. Any CO who stationed a mobile foundry in the system, particularly one on loan from the Trade Federation, would be swiftly relieved of duty for gross incompetence. It wasn't as if Harper could afford the bribes it would take to convince an Imperial Navy CO to declare the system important ...

  But it would be interesting to see if that particular titbit of information made its way to the transmitter .

  It was an opportunity, he knew. The Wolves would have only a couple of weeks to take advantage of it before the mythical squadron arrived. They’d need to send a small task force of their own to the system, in hopes of catching the foundry before it was withdrawn ... and, as there was nothing to find, it would tie up one of their task forces for a few weeks. But the opportunity would be very limited ...

  “Colonel,” Gordon Travis said. “I was under the impression that the treaty we signed with the Trade Federation specifically states that the foundry ships are not to be risked.”

  Ed kept his expression blank with the ease of long practice. It was a shame that Travis was on the other side, a political opponent if not an outright enemy. He was smart, perceptive and alarmingly competent. God knew the Commonwealth’s industrial base wouldn't be as strong without him and his fellows, businessmen who had been able to expand now the dead hand of the Empire’s rules and regulations was gone. But he was also determined to wrest control of the Commonwealth away from Gaby and her allies.

  “The war has changed some of our agreements,” he said, instead. The Trade Federation wasn't exactly fighting by their side, but it had gone a long way to help the Commonwealth fight the war. “The foundry ship is required to produce war material that can be shipped directly to the front, rather than produced here and forwarded to ships and bases that may no longer be there.”

  “That is understandable,” Travis said. “But surely the risk of a diplomatic incident isn't worth the advantages of keeping the ship there?”

  Ed gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax. Was Travis merely trying to make political hay out of a controversial decision ... or was he standing up for Avalon’s industrial base, which stood to lose a considerable amount of money if the Trade Federation handled most of the industrial production? In the long run, they had nothing to fear; in the short term, it might be disconcerting.

  “With all due respect, Councillor,” he said, “the consequences of losing the war will be a great deal worse than a minor diplomatic incident.”

  He waited to see if Travis would disagree, but the councillor didn't seem inclined to say anything further. Instead, he just waited.

  “Training programs have been accelerated on all threatened worlds,” Ed continued. They were no secret, not if the Wolves were monitoring the Commonwealth’s media. “I do not expect local resistance cells to be able to force the enemy off their planets, but it will force Wolfbane to tie down its armies to keep the planets under control. Furthermore, we have organised evacuation programs for skilled manpower ...”

  “Which causes no end of disruption,” Councillor Bunche muttered.

  “Better that than losing their services,” Travis sneered. He looked at Ed. “Has there been any change in the reports from Thule?”

  “No, Councillor,” Ed said. “The Wolves are still rounding up every scrap of trained manpower they can find. Those who can’t help to rebuild Thule’s industrial base are being shipped back into enemy territory.”

  “Stands to reason we should be probing enemy territory,” Travis said. “Is there a reason you’re not?”

  He was right, Ed reflected, sourly. The Commonwealth was probing enemy territory. But it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, not when he didn't know who he could trust. The enemy had to know the Commonwealth was trying to locate their worlds - or at least identify which ones had become industrial powerhouses - but they wouldn't be certain which worlds had been surveyed.

  “The navy is hard-pressed at the moment,” he said, which was true. “Our plans to survey enemy space have been badly delayed.”

  He paused. “With your permission, I will continue,” he added. “Military production levels ...”

  When he finished, he was surprised by a question from Councillor Morrison.

  “Colonel,” she said, “has there been any news regarding POWs?”

  Ed winced. He knew, all too well, that several hundred Commonwealth personnel had gone into enemy captivity after the Battle of Thule ... and countless others had been scooped up as the Wolves advanced into Commonwealth territory. The Wolves had promised to treat them well, but he had his doubts. Governor Brown was a product of the Empire, after all, and the Empire’s normal a
ttitude to POWs had never been kind.

  “No, Councillor,” he said, bluntly. “We have attempted to open discussions regarding either an exchange of prisoner lists or a direct exchange of prisoners, but we have been rebuffed on both counts. I suspect they have calculated that holding so many of our prisoners not only gives them leverage, it gives them a definite advantage. Their manpower levels may well be much higher than our own.”

  Morrison frowned. “Is there no way we can force them to give up their POWs?”

  “Not until we win the war,” Ed said. “That’s the only way we can force them to the negotiating table.”

  ***

  Colonel Kitty Stevenson knew she was competent, although the entry her superior officer had entered into her permanent record had been enough to ensure she would not only never see promotion again, but be exiled to the very edge of explored space. The asshole had seen her as an easy lay, as someone who would trade sex for a promotion ... and when she’d declined, he’d set out to make an example of her. Maybe he’d succeeded, the nasty part of her mind thought, but there was a good chance he’d been stuck on Earth when the end came.