The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Isabel elbowed him as soon as Dempsey had made his way out of the command vehicle. “You don’t want to take command for yourself?”

  “He’s the guy on the spot,” Glen said. In theory, Imperial Marshals had supreme authority to take the lead on any investigation, if they felt like it. But, in practice, it was normally better to let the locals handle it unless there was strong evidence the locals were likely to screw up, deliberately or otherwise. “And his men know him.”

  He settled back in his chair and forced himself to watch as the display updated, rapidly. The team had done a good job of surveying their environment, he noted, as well as obtaining the warehouse’s plans from the rental authority. There was only one way into the warehouse, a large pair of double doors on the north side of the building. But, as the Nihilists would almost certainly have the entrance rigged to blow if the wrong people came through, Major Dempsey intended to assault from the rear and blow his way through the walls. Glen rather doubted there was any better options, given the short time they had to mount the raid. God alone knew when the Nihilists would try to move to another location.

  And we could try to grab them when they moved, he thought. But that would be too risky.

  “They’re moving,” Isabel said. “Team One is assaulting the wall; Team Two is moving to seal the doors.”

  Glen took a breath as explosive charges blew holes in the walls. Moments later, armoured troopers ran forward, spraying stun bursts ahead of them. It ran the risk of stunning their own people, Glen knew, but it was the quickest way to clear the building. The prisoners would be moved to the cells, where they could be searched and then woken safely. They would have no opportunity to present a threat to their enemies.

  He swore as he heard the sound of gunfire echoing out from the warehouse. Caught by surprise or not, the Nihilists had clearly been prepared – and ready to fight back. He wondered, absently, if someone had tipped them off despite the speed the raid had been organised, then decided it wasn’t likely. The Nihilists were mad, but they weren’t stupid. If they’d expected the raid, they would have rigged the warehouse to blow or cleared out before the shit hit the fan. They had to know that not everyone was as fanatically committed to destroying everything, purely for the sake of destruction, as their leadership.

  “Two men down,” Isabel said. “One more injured, but still fighting.”

  Glen ground his teeth, helplessly. He hated the waiting, hated having to watch helplessly as other men fought and died. If he’d had a choice, he would have taken a weapon himself and gone into the building, rather than watch the Guardsmen die. But all he could do was wait ...

  The sound of shooting grew louder. Pushing his thoughts aside, Glen reached for his terminal and began to type out an emergency update. The shooting would attract attention, even now. No one in their right mind wanted to run the risk of one group of Civil Guardsmen turning up to engage another group of Civil Guardsmen. Besides, he had to explain himself to his superiors when they demanded answers. He’d lost quite a bit the moment they opened fire.

  “Take the com, tell them to send reinforcements, forensic teams and ambulances,” Glen ordered, as the shooting finally came to an end. One way or another, he was definitely committed now. He would have to pray that the raid had been a success or that his boss was feeling merciful. “I’ll be out there on the spot.”

  He jumped out of the command vehicle and strode towards the warehouse, stripping off his trenchcoat to reveal a glowing yellow jacket. No one liked them, particularly the Marshals who had seen military service before making the jump to law enforcement, because they attracted attention, but the risk of being shot by one of his own snipers was far too high without some clear means of identification. He paused long enough to allow the snipers to eyeball him, then walked towards the hole in the wall. Dempsey met him as he reached the gap into the warehouse.

  “It's a mess, sir,” Dempsey said. “Four of my men are dead, two more badly injured.”

  Glen made a face as the Civil Guardsmen carried their dead comrades out of the building and laid them, as respectfully as possible, on the roadside. The two wounded were escorted out next, their wounds already being tended by their fellows. In the distance, Glen could hear the sound of sirens as the emergency services converged on the warehouse. He sighed, then followed Dempsey into the building. Inside, it was definitely a mess.

  There were hundreds of shipping pallets everywhere, some already broken open and spilling their contents on the ground. One of them was crammed with rifles, a knock-off of a design that was older than the Empire itself, another held SAM missile launchers, although there didn't seem to be any missiles. That was odd, Glen noted, as he walked deeper into the building. Normally, the missile launchers were single-use fire and forget weapons. But their mere presence boded ill for the future.

  “There are over a hundred crates in the warehouse,” Dempsey said, as several dead bodies were carried past them and out into the open air. “If they’re all crammed with weapons ...”

  “We might have had a serious problem,” Glen finished. Terra Nova was, in theory, a gun-free zone. In practice, the planet was awash with illegal weapons, mostly bought or stolen from the Civil Guard. But the stockpile before him was enough for a major war and it had all been in the hands of the Nihilists. What had they intended to do with it? “Where did they get them from?”

  “This is a transhipment warehouse,” Dempsey said, dryly. “Someone must have shipped the weapons in from out-system, then smuggled them past the security guards.”

  Glen shook his head in disbelief. Every year, more and more security precautions were added to sweep everything and everyone heading down to the surface. Every year, more and more visitors were irritated or outraged by body-scans and even close-contact searches. Every year, the number of tourists visiting Terra Nova declined still further, damaging the planet's economy ... and yet, the Nihilists were able to smuggle hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dangerous weapons though security without setting off any alarms.

  But we caught them, he told himself. There was no way his boss could refuse to say the raid wasn't justified, not now. We caught the bastards before they could start distributing the weapons.

  He turned to look at Dempsey. “How many did we take alive?”

  “None, so far,” Dempsey said. He didn't seem flustered by Glen’s accusing look. It was far from uncommon for terrorists who had killed policemen or Civil Guardsmen not to make it to the station after being taken into custody. “They all had suicide implants, sir. They died moments after they were stunned.”

  “Make sure the place is secured, then have the forensic team go through every last inch of the building,” Glen ordered. “I want every one of them identified, I want to know just who let them through security and why ...”

  “If we have the manpower,” Dempsey cut him off. “Will your boss authorise such an effort?”

  Glen swore. With the threat of food riots, nearly every law-enforcement official on the planet had been diverted to patrolling the cities. Even the backroom experts who made the service work had been forced to remember their basic training as they donned armour and set out to try to make the streets a little safer. It was a recipe for disaster, everyone knew, but there was no alternative. They just didn't have the manpower to flood the streets with officers, let alone Civil Guardsmen.

  His terminal bleeped, loudly. It was Isabel’s ringtone. “Excuse me,” he said, removing the terminal from his belt. “Glen here.”

  “Glen, I just got called by the boss,” Isabel said. “She’s sending a team of experts over here, but she wants you to report back to the station at once. I think you're in the shit.”

  “Come back this evening ... tomorrow morning and dig me out,” Glen said. He wasn't surprised. The raid had been a great success, but he would still have to answer a great many hard questions. “And bring coffee.”

  “Will do,” Isabel said. “What would you like me to write on your gravestone before I di
g you up and put you back to work?”

  Glen laughed, tiredly. “Something witty,” he said. “Take over here; let me know if we took anyone captive. We need answers from them.”

  He stepped back out of the warehouse and walked over towards the line of vehicles screeching to a halt. One of them would take him back to the station, probably far too quickly for his peace of mind. He needed coffee and a rest, not a lecture from the boss.

  But an Imperial Marshal’s work was never done.

  Chapter Two

  The definition of crime is, of course, part of society. Throughout history, there have been no shortage of acts that we would unhesitatingly deem as criminal, yet were not considered crimes at the time.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

  Belinda closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw the city.

  It was an ugly sight. Dozens of gray cookie-cutter houses, each one completely unremarkable, completely indistinguishable from the others. There was nothing to separate each of them from their partners, no trace at all of individuality. Whoever had designed this suburb, she decided as she started to walk, had no intention of allowing human sentimentality to affect their design work. There were no shops, no schools ... nothing, but endless rows of houses ...

  ... And there were no traces of any living beings, none at all.

  Alarm bells rang in her mind as she started to run. The mission was simple enough, which meant, in her experience, that there was a nasty sting in the tail. All she had to do was get from one end of the city to the other, without allowing anything to impede her path. She’d run countless such missions before, when she’d been nothing more than a Marine Rifleman, but then she’d been surrounded by the rest of the company. Now, she was alone.

  Her enhanced senses, such as they were, probed the darkness as she ran faster, keeping to the shadows as best as she could. If someone was setting an ambush ahead of her, she was reasonably sure she could hear them lying in wait before they realised she was there, unless they knew what she was. Or they were just being paranoid. Even the most enhanced humanoids known to exist couldn't hear something if it wasn't making a sound, even breathing. Belinda had set enough ambushes in her time to know how the ambushers were thinking. They’d try to lure her into a killing zone and do whatever it took to stop her.

  She darted down an alleyway, then out into the next street, ducking into the shadows long enough to scan for anything out of place. The soulless buildings seemed to mock her, casting dark shadows that were almost completely shrouded, even to her enhanced senses. She hesitated, then ran onwards, trying to keep the sound of her footsteps to the bare minimum. And yet, she knew she was making noise, too much noise. If someone was lying in wait ...

  I should have asked for more time, she thought, as she entered another alleyway and jumped over a set of garbage cans. Enough time to run around the city, rather than through the buildings ...

  A sound caught her attention and she froze, listening carefully. It sounded like someone was crying, very softly, and trying not to be heard. Belinda turned, using her enhanced senses to triangulate the source of the sound, then crept forward. It was coming from a nearby alleyway ...

  It’s a trap, part of her mind yammered. The rest of her told that part of her mind to shut up. She couldn't leave someone in pain, all alone in the dark, not if she wanted to live up to the Marine ideal. And besides, she knew – all too well – what it was like to be alone. She peered into the alleyway and frowned as she saw the girl lying on the ground, her arms and legs akimbo. Belinda’s eyes narrowed as she moved closer. She’d seen too many horrors wrought by mankind on its fellows, but this was odd. There had been no sign that anyone lived within the city ...

  A sudden motion flickered behind her. Belinda ducked instinctively as something flashed overhead, through where her head had been seconds ago, then swung around to see a gangbanger standing there. She didn’t hesitate. Before he could take another swing at her, she lashed out herself and slammed a punch into his chest. She felt his bones breaking under the impact, but he staggered forward, his arms flailing rapidly. Belinda darted back, then watched dispassionately as he fell to the ground. And then she sensed the others shimmering into view.

  Personal cloaks? She thought, surprised. Where did a bunch of gangsters get their hands on personnel cloaking devices?

  There was no time to consider the mystery, not when she was surrounded by at least five gangsters. None of them seemed to be carrying projectile weapons, which surprised her, but they all moved as if they had some degree of martial arts training. Belinda considered trying to negotiate, then dismissed the thought impatiently. Falling into their hands would be a fate worse than death, even if they merely took her captive and traded her to their backers for additional weapons and supplies. And besides, she had no intention of surrendering – ever.

  The first gangbanger lunged forward. Belinda triggered her enhancements, then leapt up and over his head. He didn't seem surprised as she landed behind him and started to run, rather than stopping to fight. Instead, he barked a command and three of his men started to follow her, back out onto the street. Belinda ran faster, calling on her enhancements, then swore mentally as she realised they were keeping up with her. It should have been impossible ...

  And then one of them threw himself forward and slammed into her back.

  Belinda fell, twisting around to land on her back and bring her legs up to kick out at her captor. Her boot caught him in the head, which snapped backwards with a satisfying cracking sound. There was no time to be pleased with her success. Belinda jumped back to her feet as the other gangsters advanced towards her, their hands suddenly sprouting a mixture of knives, clubs and steel bars. Belinda smiled, feeling truly alive for the first time in far too long, then allowed them to close before she started to fight with enhanced strength and determination. Two of the gangsters fell before her fists, then the leader slammed something into her back. There was a sudden shock that send her falling to her knees, as if she’d been struck with an weakened stun beam.

  A neural whip, the analytical part of her mind pointed out. You’ve had your nerves jangled ...

  She gritted her teeth and started to force herself to her feet, but it was too late. One of the gangbangers caught her arms and yanked her back to the ground, while two more caught her legs and wrenched them apart. Belinda struggled, feeling panic bubbling at the corner of her mind, as the leader produced a sharp knife and went to work on her trousers. He wasn't fool enough to have his men let her loose, she realised numbly. It was clear he had a good idea of just who and what she was. And then she felt cold air on her exposed skin ...

  “Lie still,” the gangbanger ordered, as he started to undo his trousers. “This will be ...”

  “End program,” another voice said.

  Belinda cursed under her breath as the droids holding her went limp, then looked up. Major General Jeremy Damiani, Commandant of the Terran Marine Corps, was standing to one side, looking disapproving. His bulldog-like face was twisted into a scowl that left her feeling as though she’d disappointed him, which she probably had. At the peak of her prowess, before the Fall of Earth, she could have cut her way through any number of gangbangers without a second thought. But a great deal had changed since then.

  “Well,” the Commandant said. “I’ve never seen anyone almost raped by the simulators before.”

  “No, sir,” Belinda said. She stumbled to her feet, ignoring the remains of her trousers as they fell off her legs. Dignity wasn't something permitted to Pathfinder Marines. She'd carried out missions buck naked, once upon a time. Maybe she would again, one day. If she managed to recover from the Fall of Earth. “I wanted to test myself.”

  “You set the simulator to extreme levels,” the Commandant said. “I believe the medical corpsmen will want a few words with you.”

  Belinda shrugged, refusing to show any of the bitter despondency that threatened to overwhelm her
as she turned and started towards the hatch. Her emotions had once been tightly controlled, but no longer. She’d lost count of just how many times she'd found herself in tears since Earth had died, since Prince Roland had been sent to the Safehouse. It was almost a relief that he was no longer with her, even though she missed him more than she cared to admit. At least he wouldn't have to see how far she’d fallen from the dispassionate Marine he’d met on Earth.

  The Commandant cleared his throat. Loudly.

  “You were badly injured on Earth,” he said, following her through the hatch. “I don’t expect you to regain your health so quickly.”

  “I was always an overachiever,” Belinda said. She started to strip off her uniform jacket, boots and panties, heedless of his presence. The Chesty Puller’s simulator had left her sweaty and uncomfortable. It had really been too real for comfort. “And I will not surrender to despair.”

  “Good,” the Commandant said. His tone was artfully flat, so carefully controlled she knew it had to be an act. “But you are also pushing yourself too hard.”

  “I don’t think so,” Belinda said. “The medics have always erred on the side of caution.”

  She finished undressing, then stood naked in front of the mirror. Physically, she looked normal; a blonde-haired young woman with a heart-shaped face and a body that was healthy and fit without seeming unnaturally muscular. Her long blonde hair alone would have made it hard for anyone to believe she was a Marine, not when almost every Marine in the Corps shaved their hair to keep it from getting in their way. But Pathfinders had always been allowed a certain level of latitude, particularly when they were operating undercover. They couldn't afford to look like Marines ...

  But her blue eyes were haunted and her skin was unnaturally pale ...

  “The medics are trying to keep you alive,” the Commandant said. “We don’t want to lose you because you pushed yourself too hard.”