The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi

by Christopher Nuttall

  -Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era

  “She isn’t as secure as she would like to be,” Jasmine said.

  She tapped the display showing the locations of military transmitters on the ground. “She’s got small units deployed near the farms and isolated factories,” she added. “Not unlike what we did, back when we were fighting the Crackers. They’re there to either guard the food production facilities or keep the population under control.”

  “Or both,” Sergeant Harris commented. “If she holds the food supply in her grip, she can keep the cities without having to spread her forces too thin.”

  Jasmine nodded. Keeping a full-sized city under control required thousands of soldiers; she couldn't fault Admiral Singh for wanting to find an easier way to keep control. Given a population in the millions, the civilians would eat through their food stocks in a matter of days if the food supply happened to be cut off – and then they’d riot, before they died. But if they knew that Admiral Singh could cut them off at any time, they’d obey. How could they be blamed for doing otherwise?

  She looked at the display again, silently tracing the location of the small garrisons. It was quite possible that there was an insurgency going on outside the cities, although with so much firepower in orbit the insurgency was unlikely to get beyond the harassing stage. The Crackers had come alarmingly close to taking over Avalon before the Imperial Navy had dispatched a single destroyer to smash their army from orbit. Admiral Singh had enough firepower to make that look like a love tap.

  But then, she won’t want to smash the farms herself, she thought, contemplating the possibilities. She’s just as dependent upon them as the locals.

  “We cannot guarantee remaining undiscovered if we dock at their orbital stations,” Mandy said, softly. She’d studied the records of the visiting freighters carefully. “We could go in naked and see what happens ...”

  “Too risky, at least at first,” Jasmine said.

  She shook her head firmly. There was no way to know how Admiral Singh’s men would react to their arrival – and to their cover story. They might just sell Mandy some HE3, hire her to work for them ... or seize the ship on some pretext. The latter had been common during the waning days of the Empire. It had somehow never occurred to the bureaucrats that if they came up with excuses to punish independent shippers who annoyed them, the independent shippers would simply avoid their worlds.

  “That leaves the other operational plan,” Sergeant Hampton said. “Using a missile pod to cause a distraction while we slip in from the other side.”

  Jasmine nodded. She'd considered leaving the missile pod out of the plan, but the readings they had on the enemy sensor network suggested that they were going to need a diversion. If Admiral Singh’s forces had something else to worry about, they might miss the Marines trying to slip through the defences. They’d also steer their course so they moved well away from the orbital installations. It was unlikely that a sensor contact near the stations would be ignored.

  She tapped the display. “Harrington will drop us into space here,” she said, pointing to a specific location near the planet. “We’ll drift in towards the planet while Harrington dog-legs around the edge of their sensor network and emplaces the missile pod here. Once we start slipping into detection range, the missile pod will be triggered – and start screaming its message to the Admiral.”

  Hampton nodded. “It should alarm her,” he said. His comrades had recorded the message, just to ensure that they got the accent right. If they were very lucky, Admiral Singh might even assume that the freighter that had emplaced the missile pod was the freighter Hampton had captured and used in his escape. “It has its risks ...”

  “Yes,” Jasmine said. “Risks.”

  Using a false-flag operation galled her at the best of times, but it was worse when there was a helpless planetary population who were likely to bear the brunt of any punishment from the Admiral. Greenway’s population might be made to suffer for something that had nothing to do with them. There was no choice; they were, to all intents and purposes, at war, but it still didn't sit well with her.

  She looked over at Hampton’s comrades. “You will be sedated for the drop,” she said, recalling her very first training drop. She'd thought that she was ready for it – and she’d still wet herself when they’d been launched out of the spacecraft and sent falling towards the planet below. She hadn't been the only one to lose control of her bladder either. It was funny how that had never been mentioned in the recruitment leaflets. “You’ll wake up on the planet.”

  Or dead, she added, in the privacy of her own mind. But there was no choice. There were people who couldn't wear a combat suit without feeling claustrophobic. Marines drilled endlessly so they could endure hours of boredom without panicking, but the militiamen had never had any training in using the suits. Besides, if they were detected, they’d die without ever knowing what had hit them.

  “We will aim to land here,” she added, altering the map so it showed a specific location two hundred kilometres from Landing City. It might take them several days to walk to the city, if they couldn't find any other transport, but landing too close to the capital might be noticed. “If we can, we will make contact with the locals and see what they can tell us.”

  She scowled. There was no way to know what sort of reception they’d get. Some people might help them, some might turn them away ... and some might call for the Admiral’s forces. Perhaps they would be outright collaborators, perhaps they would justify it to themselves by claiming it would spare their friends and families punishment when Admiral Singh found out, but in the end it would hardly matter. All that mattered was that their presence would be exposed.

  They’d practiced hiding from hunting teams on the Slaughterhouse, but it was always difficult to hide when the enemy could flood the area with thousands of troops.

  She looked around the compartment, then smiled at her platoon. “We will transfer to Harrington within the hour, so make damn sure you're not carrying anything that might identify us,” she added. “And then we will head in-system.”

  Kate and Steve gulped. Clearly, the reality of what they were going to do hadn’t struck them until now. Jasmine concealed a smile and motioned for Sergeant Hampton to escort them back to their quarters, where they would both be strip-searched, just in case. Everything from their outfits to the weapons they carried had been carefully inspected to ensure that they offered no clues to their origin, but the slightest thing could give them away. They weren't even allowed to carry photographs of their families.

  She watched them go, followed rapidly by the rest of the landing party. At least she could trust her Marines not to carry anything too revealing, although she knew that an intrusive body-scan would reveal far too much. Marine Riflemen didn't receive the intensive implants used by Pathfinders and other highly-classified units, but what they did have was unique to the Marine corps. The medics had camouflaged the implants as best as they could, stepping them down so they seemed civilian-grade if someone made a brief scan, yet an intrusive investigation would discover their true nature. And then the mission would be blown.

  There’s no choice, she told herself, grimly. It didn't make her feel any better.

  “Good luck,” Mandy said, once everyone else had left the compartment. “In a week or so, we will try to make contact with them.”

  Jasmine scowled. Once the Marines were gone, Lightfoot could be stripped of everything that might be too revealing, but it was still dangerous. At least no one would be too surprised by the freighter crew using counter-interrogation implants. They were very common along the Rim. If Admiral Singh simply confiscated the ship ...

  “Watch yourself,” she growled, finally. If she could have forbidden it, she would have – but Mandy was right. They needed to slip more people into Corinthian and establishing a ‘legitimate’ freighter identity would be a step towards opening a hidden channel ... assuming, of course, that the securit
y officers on the planet weren't incredibly paranoid. “And make damn sure you strip the ship first.”

  Mandy bowed her head. “You make damn sure you survive,” she said, as she gave Jasmine a hug. “And you still owe me a drink.”

  Jasmine laughed. “I always owe you drinks,” she said. “There’s something wrong with your accounting.”

  She left the compartment and walked down to Sergeant Hampton’s compartment, where the three militiamen and Elliot Canada were dressing quickly. “Nothing to report,” Sergeant Hampton said. “We’re all clean.”

  “Good,” Jasmine said. None of the volunteers looked happy – and Jasmine found it hard to blame them – but they’d just have to suck it up and deal with it. Whatever mementos they’d brought along of their families would have to be left on Butcher until they returned from Corinthian. “Mr. Canada, I need a word with you.”

  The defector looked up at her nervously as she escorted him into the next compartment. “We are going to rely on you once we’re down on the ground,” she said, “so tell me now; are you up for it?”

  Canada swallowed, but nodded.

  “This isn't going to be easy,” Jasmine warned him. How many times had she said that over the past month? “If we are detected, we will likely die. You might make a mistake that gets us caught. If you do, I will kill you personally. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Canada said. He hesitated, then confessed. “Everything I know about the Democratic Underground is out of date.”

  Jasmine concealed her amusement. She already knew that; the analysts had pointed it out, in enough detail to thoroughly get on her nerves. The Democratic Underground could have been wiped out, or subverted, or simply left to rot ... there was no way to know, at least until they reached the planet’s surface and made contact. And that would be risky as hell.

  “It's good that you know that,” Jasmine said, patiently. “Still, don’t take anything for granted.”

  She stepped backwards and looked at him appraisingly. Not a Marine – and not someone with the ambition to drive him onwards and upwards in the Commonwealth Navy. But he’d been brave to come forward and braver still to volunteer for the mission to Corinthian, despite the colossal risks. And he was clearly terrified at the thought of spending hours in a suit, drifting helplessly through space. Jasmine knew exactly how he felt.

  “Get your kit together,” she ordered. “It's time to go.”

  Jasmine felt her own apprehension rising as the platoon transferred to Harrington. Captain Delacroix didn't hesitate; as soon as the platoon were onboard, she took her starship back towards Corinthian, taking every precaution to remain undetected. Jasmine watched through the vessel’s sensors as they dropped down from above the system’s plane, a tactic that ensured that they remained well clear of any in-system spacecraft. Most of the freighters heading out of the system did so on different courses. Once they crossed the phase limit, they vanished into phase space and were gone.

  She scowled as the full immensity of Admiral Singh’s little empire finally struck home. This wasn’t a world controlled by pirates – or tyrants who had seized power in the wake of the Empire’s fall. Corinthian was a heavily-developed world, ruled by a competent dictator who commanded a formidable fleet. And fifteen people, only twelve of them Marines, were going to set themselves against such an edifice? All of a sudden, the half-drawn plan seemed thoroughly insane.

  One step at a time, she reminded herself. It was the classic solution; a large problem could be solved by breaking it down into a series of smaller problems. Right now, they had to get down to the planet’s surface. After that, they could worry about the rest of the operation.

  “Don your suits,” she ordered, quietly.

  The makeshift suit she’d worn since they’d departed Avalon still didn't feel right. It was older than Jasmine herself; it just didn't have the fluid reaction of the combat suit she’d left behind on Avalon. The HUD was practically civilian, the embedded weapons felt puny and there was almost no camouflage system. They’d modified some of the suit’s systems and replaced the antigravity generator, but the rest of it had been left alone. Jasmine found it difficult to understand why the suits had once been considered state of the art.

  Because it was all they had, she thought, as the suit’s servomotors hummed to life. She checked the telltales, one by one, and relaxed slightly as she realised that everything seemed to be in working order. The Sergeants moved from Marine to Marine, checking their suits with handheld diagnostic tools, then moved on to the non-Marines. Their suits would have to handle the descent on their own, without human input. They’d have to be checked far more carefully.

  “We’re approaching the drop point,” Captain Delacroix’s voice said. She sounded funny through the suit’s speakers, as if her voice was oddly accented. “Are you ready to be deployed?”

  Jasmine looked over at the non-Marines. Sergeant Hampton pressed an injector tab against Kate’s neck; a moment later, her head slumped inside the suit. She was lucky, Jasmine realised, that she wasn't using a standard Marine combat suit; the battlesuit, responsive to its owner’s moves, would have crumpled to the deck. Steve and Elliot Canada were already out of it. They’d wake up on Corinthian – or in Heaven.

  “All present and correct,” she said, as she pulled her helmet down over her head. The suit’s internal air tanks had been replaced, thankfully. According to the techs, the first time they’d opened the suits the air had tasted like old socks. It was a great improvement over the average pirate vessel, but it wouldn't have endeared anyone to the suits. “We’re ready, Captain.”

  “Good luck,” Captain Delacroix said. It was hard to make out any genuine emotion in her warped voice. “I’ll keep a light in the window – and see you all again soon.”

  Jasmine smiled, ruefully. Did Delacroix still wish that she’d passed the Crucible now?

  She felt the tension rise as the hatch hissed open, revealing the inky blackness of space, broken only by the constant glow of thousands of stars. It was easy to forget just how large the stars when they were hundreds of light years away; they looked tiny, impossibly small. Even Corinthian itself was only a tiny orb in the distance, illuminated by the light of its parent star.

  The gravity field let go of her as she stepped out into space, allowing the thrusters to start pushing them towards Corinthian. It would take hours to reach the planet’s orbit, whatever else happened. She shivered again as she concentrated on her mental disciplines. Alone among the stars, unable to talk to her fellows, could lead to madness. Instead, she would have to concentrate on something else.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they drifted forward. The suit’s sensors were pathetic compared to a modern battlesuit, let alone a starship; almost nothing sounded an alert until they were almost at the planet itself. Jasmine watched with growing concern as the suit picked up a prowling destroyer, before the enemy ship vanished into the distance without – apparently – having seen a thing. It should have been a surprise – the suits were tiny, as well as stealthy – but she was still nervous. Detection would mean capture – or death. The suits couldn't hope to avoid engagement if they were picked up.

  Corinthian grew larger and larger as they approached, a blue-green orb surrounded by sparkling lights, each one a colossal orbital station or starship. From such a distance, there was no sign of settlement on the planet’s surface, but very few worlds had anything that showed up to the naked eye from orbit. Earth, of course, was covered in megacities and a few of the Core Worlds were just as bad ... Corinthian, however, hadn't been settled anything like as long as humanity’s homeworld. There would be parts of it, she suspected, that were still as empty as most of Avalon. It might make an excellent breeding ground for an insurgency.

  The files had stated that Corinthian’s natural wildlife hadn't really put up a fight when plants and animals from Earth’s ecosystem had been introduced to their new home. It wasn't surprising; few ecosystems were anything like as aggressive as E
arth’s – or, at least, what Earth had been before humanity had polluted the planet beyond repair. Right now, someone who knew basic field craft could survive for years on Corinthian without being detected, just by eating the plants and capturing small animals. If Avalon was any guide, there might be an entire subculture living in the forests, hidden from the rest of the world.

  Or simply refugees from Admiral Singh’s rule, she thought, wryly. Why not? It happened on every other world too.

  She almost jumped as the timer buzzed. It was time to begin their final approach.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That is a dangerous question to ask. Any group tends to band together against the outside universe – and determine itself as the font of all wisdom. Ask anyone and they will come up with a list of deserving people who should get a say in affairs – and people who should not, simply because they are believed to be ignorant. Few doctors, for example, would cheerfully accept non-doctors telling them what to do if they had the power to prevent it.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era

  “That’s odd,” Specialist Cassie Lang mused. “What’s that?”

  Her supervisor walked over from his console and peered over her shoulder. He was old, old enough to have spent nearly fifty years in the Imperial Navy before retiring, but he was a good teacher. Cassie had heard horror stories about what supervisors did with young trainees under their command, yet nothing had actually happened. The worst he'd done was chew her out for making the same mistake twice.

  “Someone seems to have forgotten how to stealth themselves,” the supervisor said, with grim humour. “They’re broadcasting a signal that will draw our eyes towards them ...”

  Cassie sucked in a breath as the signal suddenly strengthened. “The Greenland Liberation Front demands that you withdraw from our planet at once,” it said. “If you do not ...”