Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’d like you to come,” Gavin said. “It would be fun.”

  “I’m sure it would be, but it depends on my father,” Jasmine said. “He really hates being in the city.”

  She sat back and watched as Sabre City came into view. It didn't look very impressive, not compared to Camelot on Avalon, but she had to admit it had style. The wooden buildings were designed to let water flow off them as quickly and efficiently as possible, while the gutters were deep enough to keep water flowing down to the sea without flooding the streets or washing against the sides of the buildings. They’d been treated, she suspected, to prevent rot, but it still struck her as an unsafe place to build. But then, the settlers might not have been given much choice.

  “You can drop me off here,” she said, as they drove into the city. “I’ll try and make it, but no promises.”

  She couldn't help feeling a flicker of guilt as she watched Gavin drive away, then turned and made her way towards the tiny house. It had surprised her when Austin had told her they could use the house, but she’d understood when she’d seen it. Sabre City often played host to visitors from the rest of the settlement, who would hire a house for a few days or weeks, then go back to their homes. And then there were transit barracks around the edge of the city ... she pushed the thought aside as she stepped up to the house, then tapped on the door. It opened moments later, revealing Stewart. Watson was sleeping on the sofa, one hand resting on a pistol he’d been given by Austin.

  “Kailee is in the next room,” Stewart said. “Did you find anything useful?”

  “We’re going to have to take a ride on the shuttle,” Jasmine said, bluntly. She coughed loudly to wake up Watson. “There’s no other way to orbit.”

  “Bollocks,” Watson said. “You’re sure?”

  “The only way up is in their shuttle,” Jasmine said. “Unless you have a plan to build a shuttle we can actually fly?”

  “I don’t think we can, not here,” Watson said, sourly.

  Jasmine shrugged. She’d once heard a story about a primitive world that had managed to build a spacecraft, but it had been insanely risky and probably mythical. By her most optimistic estimate, it would be at least two hundred years before Meridian was capable of producing even a primitive space rocket, assuming that Wolfbane just sat back and let them get on with it. The shuttle that had been stripped for parts was effectively useless, leaving them with one option. She could see no alternative.

  “Then we need a plan,” Stewart said. “They’re unlikely to let us stow away with the fruit and veg.”

  “I know,” Jasmine said. “That's why we’re going to be riding on the outside of the shuttle.”

  Watson smiled. “I like it.”

  “You would,” Stewart said. “Brigadier, with all due respect, we’re not Pathfinders.”

  Jasmine winced, inwardly. “I know,” she said. Pathfinders could survive in space without spacesuits, if the rumours were true. “But there are spacesuits in the storage dump, ones we can adapt for our use. Give us a handful of days and we should be able to prepare three of them. If worst comes to worst, we can simply patch them up and jury-rig an oxygen tank.”

  “It would work,” Watson said. “But wouldn't they notice the extra weight?”

  “They don’t seem very concerned about the precise weight of food,” Jasmine said. “All they really want is enough of it to feed forty-odd men and women. They don’t insist on it being precisely one hundred tons of crap.”

  “We’d have to disable the exterior sensors,” Stewart warned. “Or spoof them, somehow.”

  Watson smirked. “If it isn't a military-grade shuttle, we wouldn't have to worry about sensors,” he said. “Civilians don’t normally monitor for any vague bumps on the hull.”

  “Better to be careful,” Jasmine said. She paused, then outlined her plan. It was vague, but she couldn't think of anything better. “We will need some help from the resistance to make it work.”

  “They would definitely have to help us,” Stewart agreed, once Jasmine had finished. “And it could easily explode in their face.”

  “No, we could do it without them,” Watson said. “There are spaceport workers who will help load the shuttle, in any case. We can get them to do what we want without involving the resistance.”

  “They’d have to be walking up and down and around the shuttle,” Stewart said. He tapped the table, thoughtfully. “They’re not going to be doing that without a reason. We’d have to give them one.”

  “Yeah,” Jasmine agreed. “I’ll speak to Austin later tonight. If he agrees, we can start modifying the spacesuits and tools tomorrow.”

  “Better hurry,” Watson said. “I think they were actually trying to sell us on the virtues of staying here.”

  Jasmine shrugged. “How long could we stay here once the guards realise we’re missing?”

  “Besides, it would mean breaking our oaths,” Stewart rumbled. “I, for one, have no intention of just surrendering. Staying here after I retire would be nice, but for the moment ... we need to get back home. The Colonel is waiting for us.”

  “They may also be thinking about keeping us here by force,” Watson warned. “We are a danger to them, just by existing.”

  “They’re already in trouble,” Jasmine commented. “Us leaving might not be suspicious, as we know little about the planet, but Kailee will lead them back to Gary. They were committed the moment they chose not to call the Wolves and have us thrown back into the camp.”

  “Make sure they know that,” Stewart said. “Covering up their involvement won’t be easy.”

  “Yes, it will,” Watson said. “We evacuate the POW camps, then bombard them from orbit. It will look like we blew up every last trace of Wolfbane, then vanished. As far as they will know, the POWs would be dead.”

  “Let us hope they believe that,” Jasmine said. Would the Wolves really believe she’d been ruthless enough to slaughter the prisoners she couldn't take with her? “And for now, I’m going to get some rest.”

  Chapter Eleven

  This may seem absurd. If a school were to be hit by gunfire and destroyed, killing hundreds of children, it seems self-evident that whichever side fired the fatal shot was responsible for the disaster. But was that really the case?

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

  Meridian, Year 5 (PE)

  “Are you sure,” Gary asked, “that this is a good idea?”

  “I think we have no choice,” Austin said.

  “Nothing is certain in war,” Darrin intoned, “save that the enemy will be the enemy, that the good guys will be the good guys, and the politicians will find a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”

  Gary snorted. How long had it been since they’d watched that entertainment? The show had been nothing more than mindless, yet curiously sterile violence, naked girls and endless sex scenes. In hindsight, he understood it was intended to keep the population distracted, preventing them from thinking about their lot, but it was still surprisingly anti-establishment.

  Years, he thought. There are no viewscreens on Meridian.

  “Their shuttle will be here within an hour,” Gary said, instead. They’d worked out the loading schedule carefully, but there had been no way to rehearse properly. “Once it arrives, we will be committed.”

  Austin nodded. “I think we need to take a gamble,” he said. “And risk everything on one throw of the dice.”

  Gary nodded. Kailee had been taken from him ... and now she was back, he wanted revenge on her captors, even if he knew he didn't have the bravery to face them himself. But the risks were horrendous ... the Wolves might rain fire and death on Sabre, or settle merely for blasting a hundred farms from orbit, ensuring that the population would starve. Who knew what they would do to keep order on their conquered worlds?

  “It is risking everything,” Darrin said. “But the alternative is remaining under their thumb until the end of days.”

  “Then we
are committed,” Gary said. He checked his watch, thoughtfully. “I have to get back to the control tower. I’ll see you afterwards ...”

  “Yeah,” Darrin said. “See you then.”

  ***

  Jasmine checked and rechecked the spacesuit as she waited, knowing that both Stewart and Watson would be doing the same with theirs. Some of the equipment had decayed over time, unsurprisingly, and cannibalising some of the suits to ensure that three were operational had been a major headache. She was privately relieved they’d been able to do it themselves, as bringing more people from Meridian into the conspiracy would have increased the risks of detection. Who knew if the Wolves had a couple of spies on the surface? It was what she would have done, if she’d been in their place.

  But all the collaborators have been accounted for, she told herself firmly. It was odd to realise that the collaborators and the resistance actually collaborated, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The collaborators weren't willing collaborators and the resistance knew better than to lash out at the collaborators, forcing them to give themselves wholeheartedly to their unwanted masters. None of them know we’re here.

  She took a breath, then pulled the spacesuit over her head. It felt cumbersome, compared to a Marine-issue shipsuit, but it hadn't been specifically tailored for her. She was just lucky, she decided, that she didn’t have larger breasts. Whoever had come up with the standardised designs for spacesuits hadn't thought to account for wearers who had breasts ... or were excessively fat, for that matter. It was just another way the endless intrusion of bureaucracy had weakened the Empire.

  “I feel like a penguin,” Stewart complained, as he waddled around in his suit. “And the air smells like bat barf.”

  “As long as you can breathe, it should be fine,” Jasmine said, dryly. She activated her own life support system and took a breath. The oxygen smelled worse than Stewart had suggested, but it would keep her alive. No doubt one of the filters in the reprocessors had decayed since the suits were last checked. “Carl?”

  “My air smells like fairy dust,” Watson said. “I think I need to replace the life support box.”

  “Then do it,” Jasmine said, sharply. She glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. There was less than an hour before the shuttle landed, before they knew if they were going to succeed or die trying. “Hurry up.”

  She started to walk around in the suit, cursing the way it constrained her vision and movements. Heavy combat armour would have been preferable; it could be just as irritating, but it was effectively bulletproof and carried enough weapons to make up for any minor inconveniences. But they would have to rely on the suits, at least until they reached the station, where they could be discarded.

  Unless they blow the hatches, she thought. But will they be expecting an attack?

  There was no way to know. Everything she’d seen suggested the Wolves weren't too worried about being attacked, but the station was the key to their control of the system. Losing a POW camp or two would be annoying, losing the station would free Meridian from their control ... at least until a warship arrived to find out why the station wasn't responding. They had to take it more seriously, unless the Wolves really had sent all their Category-Z manpower to Meridian. She found it easy to believe that all the POW guards were classed as expendable.

  “I still feel like a penguin,” Stewart muttered, as he picked up their makeshift tools and started to practice manipulating them in the suit. “We really need skin-tight gloves.”

  “We’re not going to get them,” Watson said, curtly. He fiddled with a modified processor, then dropped it on the ground. “We’ll just have to learn.”

  Jasmine nodded. They had no choice.

  ***

  “They’re coming,” Gary said. “ETA ten minutes.”

  “I’ll let the Marines know,” Austin said. “Good luck.”

  Gary shrugged. In truth, there was very little for him to do, beyond monitoring the enemy’s flight path. There was almost nothing in the air, save for an emergency aircraft flying far to the north; there was no real risk of the shuttle ramming another aircraft or being forced to crash by a sudden burst of turbulence. He’d been reassured, more than once, that no matter how bad it seemed, it was almost always minor. It would have been more reassuring if his first flight in an old-style aircraft hadn't ended in a crash.

  But, for once, he half-wished the turbulence was vile enough to knock the craft out of the sky.

  The Wolves didn’t bother to send him updates as they dropped down towards the spaceport, unsurprisingly. They could have landed there - or anywhere - without his help. Gary rose to his feet and peered through the window as the shuttle came into view, a boxy shape that hung in the air over the spaceport, seemingly defying the planet’s gravity. He couldn't help feeling a pang of regret for lost opportunities - his life would have been very different if he’d gone with the Traders, instead of landing on Meridian - which he pushed aside, savagely. If he hadn't landed on the planet, he would never have started a relationship with Kailee.

  “Attention,” a voice snapped, through the radio. “We’re landing, now.”

  Gary rolled his eyes. They always felt the urge to make such announcements, even though they were pointless. Nine days out of ten, there was no one on the spaceport save him ... and even now, with the loading crew getting ready to go to work, there was no one on the landing pad. It was just another petty exercise in intimidation, like so much of what he’d faced on Earth. But it was also backed with overwhelming force.

  He strolled back to the console and tapped a switch. “Welcome to Meridian,” he said, in what he hoped was a neutral manner. “We have your supplies ready for you.”

  The voice changed, slightly. “Anything special?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Gary said. The resistance had tried to find ways to bribe the pilots, but nothing had worked. They only seemed to be interested in flying and fucking. “Just food and drink, the usual.”

  The pilot sighed. “No porn?”

  “None,” Gary said. Earth had produced thousands of terabytes of porn daily - yet another way to keep the population distracted - but Meridian didn't have either the inclination or the equipment to even begin producing porn. “We could find you board games, if you like.”

  “Bah,” the pilot said. “Boring.”

  Gary shrugged. Once, he would have agreed. What was Chess or Risk or Monopoly compared to a 3D game? But now, he found himself appreciating the simplicity of such games.

  “The hatches are open,” the pilot said. “Start loading now, if you please. We have to get back up there as quickly as possible.”

  “Understood,” Gary said. “Your supplies are on the way.”

  He closed the channel, then headed down the ladder to the hanger, where the food and drink had been stored. The heavy wooden boxes looked fragile, but he knew from experience that they were strong enough to support the food indefinitely. He nodded to the loaders, who started to pick up the first set of boxes and carry them out the door. As long as they were carried carefully, there should be no way for the shuttle’s crew to see that there were three people in spacesuits, hanging to the rear of the crates. He prayed, silently, that the plan actually worked. Discovery now, while everyone was still on the ground, would be disastrous.

  Godspeed, he thought.

  ***

  Jasmine held her breath as the crate was carried up to the shuttle, then put down in front of the loading ramp. There were cameras scattered around the shuttle’s hull, she knew, but there were blindspots ... and, if everything had gone perfectly, they were now in one of them. The crew shouldn't be able to see them scrambling away from the boxes and fixing themselves to the hull. She briefly considered slipping into the hull, but it was too risky. There was no connection between the cargo hold and the cockpit, ensuring they could be caught like rats in a trap.

  And they could have scattered sensors inside the hold, she thought. It was what she would have done, if sh
e’d been forced into depending on the locals to load her shuttles. Someone trying to stowaway would be the obvious way to reach orbit. We just need to be careful.

  She checked that she was securely linked to the hull, then forced herself to wait. Her first parachute jump had been far harder, in many ways; no matter what she knew about safety, it had been hard to step over the edge and plummet down towards the ground. There was no way she could talk to either of the others, not without risking detection; the only thing she could do was wait. But at least she’d learned patience the hard way too.

  The shuttle rocked suddenly as the ramp closed, then she felt the hull start to shiver as the pilots powered up the drives. She would have insisted on making a visual inspection of the hull before take-off, but then she also knew what was coming. A garrison on occupation duty, light years from the front, might well grow lazy and careless. Even Marines could succumb to ennui, if given a chance. It was why there was never any shortage of duties to perform, even well away from a war zone.