She frowned, searching for alternate suggestions. “Maybe he was a committed Nihilist and just couldn't take the strain of living any longer.”
Glen shrugged. The Nihilists rarely committed suicide without taking as many people as possible down with them. Nards might have poisoned his family – there was no sign of a struggle upstairs – but it was still a remarkably low body-count. Normally, even a single Nihilist aimed to kill dozens of innocent victims. He slapped his head, angrily. Nothing about the case made sense!
“It’s odd,” he said, softly. He turned to walk back to the living room. “But if he killed himself, what happened to the knife?”
“Point,” Isabel said. They returned to the body and inspected the surroundings, but found no sign of the knife. “He couldn't have hidden it before he died, not with that slash in his throat. Someone else definitely killed him, probably to cover their tracks.”
“It looks that way,” Glen agreed. If Nards hadn't been anything more than an easily-bribed official, the Nihilists would have killed him to ensure he couldn't betray them afterwards. It was so common that he honestly wondered why anyone would accept a bribe from the Nihilists ... unless, of course, Nards had had no idea who’d bribed him. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”
He sighed. “Get the bodies bagged up,” he ordered. He reached for one of the bags, then opened it up and eyed the body, wondering how best to tackle the job. The bodies would be contaminated, damaging the chain of evidence, no matter what they did. It might be harder to secure a conviction. “We’ll take them home.”
“Of course,” Isabel said. She took a smaller bag and started to walk towards the stairs. “And ...”
She broke off as a deafening explosion shook the entire house. “The hell ...?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Imperial Marshals, by contrast, worked cases that extended beyond a single planet in the Empire. A Marshal commanded vast authority; in theory, they were superior to both policemen and guardsmen wherever they went. However, their authority was not always recognised by their so-called allies.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.
Belinda spun around and swore out loud as she saw the vans explode into a fireball. She gripped her weapon as the mob appeared, swarming out of the nearby houses and heading towards them with deadly intent. Mobs were always dangerous, particularly in close confines where there was nowhere to run. She cursed under her breath, then snapped a command to load weapons as the mob came closer.
“We have to get out the back,” she snapped, thinking hard. There was no point in trying to stand and fight, not with only a handful of men. “Hurry!”
Two of her men looked to be on the verge of panic. She slapped them both, hard enough to sting, then shoved them towards the door. The lack of real training was harming them now, she knew, although training for mobs was never easy. There was something brutally primal about the sheer force of a mob that scared people to death, even though they had training and weapons and even powered combat armour. But if they’d had armour, she knew, they would have been safe. The only problem would have been keeping her men from tearing through the mob like paper.
The Marshals looked up in surprise as she urged her men into the house and through the kitchen. One of them, a middle-aged man with a reassuring air of competence, tossed her a questioning look. Belinda motioned for him and his partner to start moving, then gabbled out an explanation.
“There’s a mob approaching the house and the vans are gone,” she snapped. What had destroyed the vans? They weren’t tanks, but they were heavily armoured. Did the locals have antitank weapons or homemade RPGs at their disposal? “We have to get out of here.”
She hit the emergency beacon, summoning help, then followed them out the rear door. The back garden was a desolate wasteland, the grass dying through lack of care. Belinda had no time to take in the sight; ahead of her, there was a wall that was high enough to pose a real barrier to some of her team. She pulled out an explosive charge, cursing their lack of training as she keyed the trigger, then darted backwards. The sound of the explosion would reveal their position to anyone who wasn't already sure of where they were. Moments later, the wall collapsed as the charge detonated, sending pieces of shattered brick flying everywhere. Behind her, she could hear the mob rampaging through the house.
“Run, she snapped, urging the Marshals through the gap. She unhooked a stun grenade from her belt and threw it backwards, as the mob came crashing into the garden. Blue-white light flared, sending tingles down her spine. The mob howled in outrage as a dozen bodies were sent tumbling to the ground, but there were just too many people in the crowd for them all to be knocked out. “Hurry!”
She watched grimly as the team ran for their lives, bringing up the rear. She’d seen enough mobs to know the dangers of being caught, but there was no way to know if the mob was carrying out an organised plan or if it was purely spontaneous. If the former, they might well run into another mob as they tried to beat a retreat, which would force them to take up residence in one of the houses and hope they could hold out long enough for backup to arrive before they died. But if it was the latter, they might well manage to escape by running.
A piece of stone crashed down beside her, thrown from an uppermost window. Something seemed to have broken in the district, she decided, as she fought back the temptation to open fire. The locals, never very inclined to obey authority, had decided to just lash out at the Marshals and their support staff. But were they primed to explode or was it just a coincidence? She contemplated the possibilities, then pushed the thought aside. Her one priority was getting the Marshals and her team out alive.
“Assholes,” Hammerfest shouted, as more pieces of rubbish cascaded down from upper-floor windows. “Fuck off and die, you pricks!”
“Ignore them and keep running,” Belinda snapped. She could have outrun or evaded the mob with ease, but she couldn't simply abandon the team. “Get your weapons loaded, but don’t shoot ...”
She swore as they spun around a corner and saw another mob at the far end. Belinda hesitated, then unslung her rifle and fired a handful of rounds over their heads. The mob seemed to quiver for a long moment, then rushed forward, the ones in front pushed by the ones behind. Belinda swore, then pointed the Marshals towards an alleyway, feeling sweat trickling down her back as they ran for their lives. But the alley was a dead end, save for a metal staircase leading up to the rooftops.
“Get up there,” Belinda ordered. “Hurry!”
She reached for her second stun grenade, then moved her hand to an HE grenade instead. It made a satisfying clang as she slammed it against the lower levels of the staircase. She ran after the others up the stairs, feeling the metal shifting under her feet as she climbed, then triggered the grenade as soon as she reached the rooftop. There was an explosion – she felt a twinge of guilt as she heard screams from below – and the staircase toppled away from the building.
“Keep moving,” she bellowed. The mob wouldn't take long to break into the apartment block and climb up to the roof. “Get over to the edge.”
The lead Marshal stopped on the edge. “You want us to climb down here?”
“I want you to jump,” Belinda said. There was only a metre between the two apartment blocks. Down below, the mob was gathering, some of them carrying bottles of liquid. It didn't take a military genius to realise they were Molotov Cocktails. “Move!”
“You have got to be fucking kidding,” Hammerfest said. “I can't jump that far.”
“Then stay here for the mob,” Belinda said. The noise from below was growing louder. She had no doubt that anyone who fell into their hands was in deep shit. “You – Marshal. Jump!”
The female Marshal hesitated, then ran towards the edge and jumped. Fear propelled her forward, Belinda noted, for she landed safely. The others followed her one by one, just as bullets started to crack through the air around them. Belinda made her own
jump, then activated her implants, hunting for the source of the bullets. A sniper was perched on top of a nearby tower, shooting at them. She lifted her rifle, took careful aim, and fired a single shot back, using her implants to assist her. The sniper jerked, then tumbled off the tower and fell to his death.
Hammerfest gaped at her. “Nice shot,” he said.
Belinda concealed her amusement. There were Marine snipers, specialists, who routinely fired at targets over three kilometres away and hit them, often without them ever knowing they were being scoped out for death. Indeed, the snipers were so lethal that they were often too good for urban combat, or simply couldn't take the long-distance shots they so loved. Sniping wasn't one of her MOS, but she’d had enhanced training and implants to assist. It would have been more astonishing if she’d missed.
“Keep moving,” she ordered. She glanced down at her terminal, but there was no ETA for backup. “And run for your lives.”
They jumped three more buildings in quick succession, then reached the end of the row of apartment blocks. Belinda cursed as more bullets started flying around them, then led the way down the metal steps, grenades in hand. As soon as the mob appeared, she primed the grenades, then threw them down towards the mob. There was a thunderous explosion and the mob recoiled, with dozens injured, perhaps killed. They reached the bottom and started to run.
“You killed them,” the Marshal said. “You ...”
“There isn't a choice,” Belinda snapped. “Kill or be killed.”
She swore as shooters started to open fire, raining bullets down towards the team. It was a struggle to find cover; she barked orders to her men, using them to lay down covering fire in hopes of suppressing the shooters. Where has the weapons even come from? She shook her head, then looked back towards the mob. It had collected itself and was starting to advance again. Belinda looked around, trying to see a way out, but saw nothing. If they ran, they would be exposed to the shooters; if they stayed where they were, the mob would get them ...
“Cover me,” Hammerfest said. He sprang out of cover and opened fire, keeping his finger on the trigger and spewing out bullets towards the shooters. His fire was hopelessly inaccurate, but it forced the shooters to duck for cover. “Hurry ...”
A shot struck him as Belinda rose to her feet and began shooting herself, with calm dispassionate precision. His body struck the ground, bleeding from a head wound she knew would be fatal, unless he was rushed to hospital at once. There were no Marine Corpsmen around, no medics who would save his life ... she silently noted his death, then shouted for the rest of her team to follow her. The shooters stayed down long enough for the team to put some distance between itself and the mob. And then another shot rang out ...
... And the female Marshal tumbled to the ground.
Belinda swore, first silently then out loud as her partner turned back for her. She could admire loyalty, but it was clear that his partner was already dead. Gritting her teeth, she scooped the body up with enhanced strength and inspected it rapidly, while the remainder of her team covered her. There was no point in trying to revive her, Belinda saw at once. The bullet had torn through her brain, killing her instantly.
The snipers seem to like headshots, she thought, savagely. First Hammerfest and ... it struck her, suddenly, that she didn't know the woman’s name. And they have us in their sights.
“Stay low,” she snapped. She would have preferred to abandon the body – there was no way it could be carried safely – but she had a feeling the dead woman’s partner wouldn't allow it. “And run ...”
Her terminal buzzed. Help was on the way ... she glanced at the screen, then urged her team to run faster. High overhead, she heard the sound of rotor blades as a pair of helicopters swooped overhead, decked out in the silver and gold livery of the Civil Guard. Belinda hoped – prayed – that the locals didn't have any HVMs in their illicit armoury or the helicopters were dead. It was alarmingly obvious that their pilots had no experience flying over a combat zone.
But instead the mob just melted away and the guns fell silent.
One of the helicopters flew top cover, twisting and turning to show off the weapons underneath its stubby wings, while the second dropped down to the ground. Belinda hesitated as the rest of the team scrambled onboard, wondering if she should run back for Hammerfest’s body, but when she looked the body was missing. The mob must have scooped it up, she realised, as she climbed into the helicopter. She gritted her teeth as the noise of the engines grew louder, then the craft shuddered as it rose into the air and made its way out of the area.
“We could have died there,” Abdul said. He was one of the other teammates, someone who had seemed in awe of Hammerfest – and uncertain what to make of Belinda. “We could have died.”
“We could have died,” Belinda agreed. Very few of the planet’s Civil Guardsmen had been anywhere near a genuine war zone. They’d been on the verge of panic when the mob had appeared, despite having weapons and discipline. “But we made it out alive.”
She felt another pang when she thought of Hammerfest. He'd been a thug, a brute, probably a rapist ... and he was dead. She held no affection for him – he wasn't a good-natured brute, like some of the Marines she’d known, but a violent thug – and yet he’d died bravely. If he’d been a Marine, she knew, she would have taken whatever risks were necessary to recover his body. Instead, she felt nothing ... and it bothered her that she felt nothing.
You fought beside him, Doug said. Doesn't that give you a bond even though he would have forced himself on you if he’d had the chance?
I would like to have seen him try, Pug injected. I happen to know what you used to stick up your ...
“Shut up,” Belinda said, out loud.
Abdul stared at her. “I didn’t say a word!”
Belinda shook her head, then peered through the hatch as the helicopter made its way over the city. It was clear that another riot or set of riots was underway, with smoke pouring up from a dozen locations and more helicopters flying over the city, weapons at the ready. She couldn't hear much over the noise of the helicopter, but her audio-discrimination programs insisted that there was quite a bit of gunfire over the city, as well as the noise of angry crowds. Terra Nova might be on the brink of complete anarchy.
She turned her attention away from the hatch and peered towards the Marshal. He looked broken, his head resting in his hands Belinda felt another pang of sympathy, then shook her head. Death was part of life for anyone who fought to defend civilisation, from Marines to the lowest Police Officer. She understood grief, but she also understood that grief could not be allowed to dominate a person’s life.
And who are you to say that? Doug asked her. You've kept us around as part of your mind.
Belinda sighed, then ignored the voice.
The helicopter flew over the centre of the city and dropped down towards a military camp established in the middle of the Central Park. Belinda felt a moment of sadness for how much natural beauty had been destroyed, then braced herself as the helicopter hit the ground hard enough to shake the entire craft. A team of armed Guardsmen surrounded the helicopter, as if they expected to be attacked at any second. Belinda smiled as she rose to her feet, noting just how tired the remainder of her team looked. They didn't have anything like her endurance.
And you might want to pretend to be wasted, McQueen offered. You can't afford to look too good.
Belinda nodded as she stepped outside. Central Park had been utterly devastated. The trees had been cut down to provide landing zones for helicopters, while tents had been erected to serve as barracks for the conscripted security forces. Belinda wondered why they hadn't simply taken over a few nearby buildings, but she had a feeling the answer probably involved large bribes. Why go for the smart and practical option when it would put a few wealthy noses out of joint?
“Have the body moved to the tent,” Fraser said. He was sitting in his wheelchair, seemingly unbothered by their tired faces. “What happened,
Lawson?”
Belinda looked at her remaining men, then looked back at Fraser. “The shit hit the fan,” she said, simply. “And we had to run.”
She met Abdul’s eyes. “Get him somewhere to lie down,” she ordered, indicating the Marshal with one hand. “I’ll finish up here.”
“You seem to have lost a man,” Fraser said, a clear note of warning in his voice. “And one of the Marshals ...”
“Snipers, sir,” Belinda said. “They caught us in the open.”
She thought, briefly, of the warehouse the Civil Guard had found, crammed with weapons destined for the Nihilists. Had there been another delivery that had been completely missed? It was quite possible. Terra Nova’s security struck her as disturbingly lax.
You can’t secure a whole planet as easily as a military base, McQueen said. Planets are big.
And we found a lot of crap in that base we secured on Tannins, Pug added. How many porn magazines and drugs crap did we recover and burn?
Fraser eyed her for a long moment. Belinda wondered, absently, what he was thinking. If he had an inkling that something wasn't entirely right with her, he might well have insisted that she return to civilian life – if, of course, it was an option. But if the Governor was insistent on cripples returning to duty, it was unlikely he’d be able to discharge her without some very searching questions being asked.
“Go get some rest,” he said, “and make sure your men do too. There may be more questions later.”
“Yes, sir,” Belinda said. She needed to think – and assess what she’d learned, before she was sent out on another mission. And she needed to decide if the Governor was up to something or if he was merely taking harsh, but necessary steps. “Is there a tent for us?”
“Go back to the station,” Fraser ordered. “Your barracks are still there.”
The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) Page 24