“Perhaps she takes their families hostage too,” Kate suggested.
Chester considered it as they slipped away from the camps and back towards the mountains, keeping a careful eye out for roving patrols. It was easy to imagine that the guardsmen wouldn't bother to mount patrols around the camps, but he knew better than to rely on it, not when all of the tactical manuals insisted that roving patrols sent out at random intervals were the best way to prevent the enemy from amassing an attack force near the place you were meant to be guarding, let alone carrying out surveillance on a potential target. He kept one eye on the sky as they crawled further away from the camp, looking for watching drones, but saw nothing. The enemy seemed to be playing dumb and he didn't like it.
He stopped a moment later, holding up a hand as he heard something moving through the underbrush. There were feet tramping towards him; quickly, he motioned for Kate to get off the half-ruined path and into hiding behind a bush. He followed her a moment later, just before a line of guardsmen appeared and walked past where they were hiding. They looked just as drowned as Chester felt, water dripping off their sodden uniforms as they marched past, heading down towards the camp. It didn't seem that they were very alert.
Not that it would be easy to stay on alert in a rainstorm, he thought, sourly. I wonder where they found shelter ...?
They encountered two more patrols as they moved around the mountain and back down into the forest, the second almost coming close enough to surprise them before they managed to hide. None of the patrolling guardsmen looked very enthusiastic, unsurprisingly. They knew how vulnerable a single patrol was to the insurgents, even if there hadn’t been any attacks on the garrisons near the mountains. Chester, who had been helping plan the attacks, hadn’t known that there was anything worth attacking nearby until the Lieutenant had discovered the existence of the hostage camp.
Once they were inside the forest, they moved down into the hidden pathways and made their way towards the camp. Chester had been astonished to discover just how many men were hidden from enemy view under the trees, even though his previous experience should have suggested that a small army could hide in the forest. But then, the bandits on Avalon and the insurgents on Corinthian both had good reasons to want to hide. At least Admiral Singh’s forces weren't trying to sweep through the forests yet, although Chester doubted that it would be long before they started trying. They just needed to boost their manpower first.
The camp itself was carefully hidden, its few power sources shielded to prevent detection and its occupants scattered around under camouflage netting. Chester allowed himself a smile as the insurgents came up to greet him, looking around at their beaming faces. Most of them had known that they didn't stand a chance until the Marines had arrived, even though they had been almost impossible for Admiral Singh to eradicate completely. Now, they felt that they could fight back and win.
“It’s good to be back,” Chester assured them. “Were there any changes to our orders from Landing City?”
“None,” Lori said. The farmer’s daughter had effectively taken over communications, although it mainly consisted of picking up messages passed from courier to courier and transporting them back to the camp. They didn't dare use radios or even microburst transmitters anywhere near their camp, not when it might attract attention and call in a KEW strike from orbit. Several early insurgent camps had been destroyed through not observing strict communications security. “Your boss just sent a brief update.”
Chester took the datapad and skimmed through it, noting the various code phases that stated that Lieutenant Yamane and the others were still alive and not operating under any form of duress. That was a relief; the countryside insurgents hadn't shared the location of their bases with anyone from the city, but he’d still been worried when he’d heard that the Lieutenant had been captured. Who knew what piece of useful information would point the enemy towards their camps?
“So we move ahead as scheduled,” he said. “I see.”
He scowled. That was going to be tricky; assuming the enemy kept maintaining the same patrol patterns, it would be hard to slip an entire force into attack range without being noticed. And, after all the attacks they’d launched in the past month, they would have real problems taking out a patrol without sounding alarms all over the continent. They couldn't gamble on another rainstorm coming at just the right moment. Marines could have done it, he was sure, but most of the insurgents had no real training at all, just raw talent.
“We’ll have to move additional weapons into place,” he said, concealing his thoughts. It would take several days to move the supply dumps closer to the camp, then they'd have to crawl through the mountains at the dead of night. “And then we will have to risk taking out the patrols.”
Lori led him back to the heart of the camp and pulled out the maps. Thankfully, the maps the insurgents possessed were actually up-to-date, which made a nice change from some of the maps they’d had to use for tactical planning in the past. There was nothing marked on the maps, of course, but he knew where some of the bases were located. Tapping each point, he talked them through the first version of the plan and then listened as they offered suggestions and improvements. They might not have had the training, but they did have far more experience with the local terrain than any of the Marines. Their insights were often helpful.
“We need to get the hostages out alive,” he said. “And we have to make sure that everyone knows what’s happened.”
Lieutenant Yamane’s orders had been very clear. The hostages had to be liberated – and then their freedom had to be announced on the radio and over the planetary datanet. Doing that would attract attention; it was quite possible that Admiral Singh would call in a KEW strike, just out of spite. Her empire would be on the verge of falling apart.
“Should be doable,” Lori said, finally. “Do you think we can get anyone into the enemy camp?”
Chester shook his head. The guards watching the hostages, according to the Lieutenant, were a special force, reporting directly to Admiral Singh. No matter what papers any new guardsmen had, they could expect to be heavily questioned when they arrived – and if there was no confirmation from their ultimate superior, they would be captured or executed on the spot. It was just too dangerous to risk.
“No,” he said, tiredly. “We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
He smiled. “It should be fun,” he added, more to reassure them rather than himself. “One way or another, Admiral Singh’s regime will not survive.”
Chapter Forty-One
In essence, to look at a different example, Admiral Singh’s government lacked even the checks and balances possessed by the Empire. It was, in effect, a pyramid structure, with the Admiral on top and her senior officers just below, each one wielding vast power that came directly from her. However, it had no protections against either incompetence or arbitrary decision-making at the top; even the Empire, in its mixture of patron-client relationships, had more checks and balances. And, maintained as it was by force, it would eventually either be destroyed by greater force or rot away from within.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
“This is a new contract,” Tam said, as the crewmen started to load the sealed pallets into Lightfoot’s hold. “It is vitally important that nothing goes wrong.”
Mandy nodded, staring down at the datapad. The contract seemed to be a waste of HE3; why would anyone hire an interstellar freighter to ship supplies to a handful of defence stations in orbit around their homeworld? But most of the freighters Admiral Singh had under her command had headed out of orbit four days ago, after taking on a vast amount of supplies for an undisclosed mission. Reading between the lines, Mandy suspected that she was looking at a fleet train being formed.
“It won’t,” she assured him, feeling a tiny stab of guilt at manipulating him. After the pirates, manipulating Tam was easy, although she was careful not to say anything without thinking f
irst. A single word out of place could blow her cover. “We’re being paid too much to allow something to go wrong.”
Tam smiled at her weak joke. “Definitely,” he said, firmly. “Next time, you can take me to dinner.”
Mandy smiled back, then went back to supervising the loading. She had wondered how she was meant to slip the pallets from Harrington onto the defence stations, but now she knew; Jasmine had somehow ensured that Lightfoot received a legitimate contract that allowed her to dock at the defence stations. And, with their new status, it was unlikely that they would be searched thoroughly, which was a relief. If the enemy had discovered the weapons, they’d know that something was badly wrong.
“Done,” she said, finally. “Are you going to be coming with us?”
Tam shook his head. “I have a logistics exam in half an hour,” he admitted. “If I pass, I may be promoted.”
“You deserve to be promoted,” Mandy told him, trying to think of how she could pry more information from the young man. A logistics exam suggested that Admiral Singh felt that she needed more logistics officers. And that suggested that she intended to expand her empire again. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Tam said.
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked off, leaving her staring after him. She took one last glance at the datapad, ran her eyes down where the pallets had been stowed, and then headed towards the bridge. Once there, she could take her ship out of the loading station and head for their first destination. And then another piece of the plan would slip into place.
Tam’s a nice boy, she thought she heard her mother say. You might like him.
Mandy shook her head, tiredly. Tam was nice – but her job was to help overthrow the regime that had put him in a position of trust. Maybe he'd still be nice afterwards or maybe he was a bully towards freighter crews that didn't happen to have pretty commanders. Quite a few of the unwilling volunteers who’d worked for the pirates had gone to work for the Commonwealth Navy, afterwards; maybe Tam could do the same. Or maybe he’d be killed when the shit hit the fan.
She stepped onto the bridge and nodded to the helmsman. “Bring up the drive,” she ordered, “and then tell them that we’re on our way to our first destination.”
***
Trevor’s first sight of the orbital defence station had left him with an impression of thunderous power that lingered in his mind, even after he and his crew had started to explore the interior of the station. Defence Station II had enough firepower to match a squadron of battleships and enough armour to stand off a savage attack, as well as projectors capable of generating three or four gravity shields at a time. Maybe the station wasn’t invincible, but it did seem almost powerful enough to check an advance on the planet by itself.
It wasn't until they’d explored the innards of the station that he’d realised that the design had its weaknesses. As long as someone held the command centre, the power core and the armoury, they could hold the entire station, at least until someone on the outside could bring in enough firepower to melt through hullmetal and recapture the station. The heavy weapons the outsiders would need to break through the sealed airlocks were simply not stored on the station, something that had puzzled him until he’d asked the XO. She’d pointed out, rather sardonically, that Admiral Singh’s men had used heavy weapons to take over Trafalgar’s support stations and she didn't want someone else doing the same to her.
The other vulnerable point lay in the station’s datanet. It was as secure as the Imperial Navy could make it, but given the right command codes anyone could make the station sit up and beg. The designers had been paranoid enough to insist that the codes could only be used in the command centre, yet if someone happened to take the command centre ... the thought made him smile, despite the nerves that threatened to overcome him. As long as they followed the plan, they should be able to secure the station before the command crew realised that something had gone wrong.
He watched, as dispassionately as he could, as the freighter settled into the dock. His crew – almost all of them were part of his cell, while the three who weren't were carefully kept in the dark – scrambled forward to open the hatches and release the pallets of missiles. Admiral Singh’s senior officers had been working hard to beef up the planet’s defences in recent months, he’d heard while he’d been on the industrial platforms, but no one actually knew why, although rumours were spreading like wildfire. Judging by what his wife’s contact had said, it seemed that Admiral Singh intended to go back to war. Perhaps she felt that it would distract the population from considering the weaknesses in her system.
The freighter’s commander looked almost absurdly young for her role, although that wasn't uncommon under Admiral Singh. She was pretty enough to force Trevor to remind himself that he was a married man; her shipsuit was tight enough for him not to care. He took the datapad she held out to him, carefully noted the location of the extra pallet, and then signed for the official pallets. Once she took the datapad back, he started to bark orders to his crew, taking care to ensure that cell members took the additional pallet. Their weapons had arrived.
He gritted his teeth at the thought. Part of him had hoped that it would all be cancelled, that he wouldn't have to keep his word to his wife – and to her mystery contact. He’d feared that it was all a trick to expose disloyalty, or a power play within the regime rather than anything from outside the system, yet he hadn’t dared do anything apart from follow orders. Now that their weapons had arrived, it was clear that they were committed ...
But I was always committed, he thought, numbly. The moment I saw Danielle again, I was committed.
He glanced down at his wristcom, noting the date. Four days; four days until the shit hit the fan, four days until he would be expected to take command of Defence Station II or die trying. It just seemed impossible, even though cold logic told him that it would be relatively simple, assuming everything worked properly. And if it didn't ... he'd tried to imagine contingency plans, but he just didn't have the background to be sure that he’d covered everything that could possibly go wrong. What if he'd missed something important?
Shaking his head, he returned to supervising his crew. The extra pallet was already on its way to his quarters, where it would be opened and the contents distributed when it was time to move. Until then, he could do nothing ... but wait and pray.
***
“There have been no new security alerts, apart from the persistent shots in the red light zone,” Patterson reported. “I’ve had additional soldiers moving up to provide cover for the patrols – hopefully, we can discourage the criminals from pushing back too hard.”
Rani nodded, absently. The attack plans for the Commonwealth lay in front of her, followed by detailed reports from the tactical planners who had organised the fleet train. Compared to that, the persistent attacks on her people seemed unimportant. She was finally going to war against a genuine opponent!
“Good,” she said, when it became clear that Patterson was waiting for a response. “Do you think that we can keep them in check indefinitely?”
“I’d prefer to sweep the entire district and arrest everyone inside,” Patterson said, briskly. “If not, however, we can probably keep the area under control for a few more weeks.”
“See to it,” Rani said. The red light district was becoming a headache; the crime lords couldn't match her in a direct confrontation, so they were doing their best to launch a series of small attacks on her forces, just to remind her that she couldn't crush them completely. She was seriously tempted to forget that she needed the red light district and just send in the troops, but she didn't have time to worry about it now. The attack was about to begin. “Once the Commonwealth is crushed, we can move on and deal with the criminals from a position of strength.”
“They have to be losing revenue,” Patterson offered. “Just losing their customers will cost them plenty of money.”
Rani nodded. Crime lords needed to maintain a constant
flow of money to keep their positions; it had been why it had been so easy to subvert them, back when she’d taken their world. But now their defiance had brought them into open confrontation with her – and she wasn't going to lift the blockade on the red light district until they came crawling to her and begged for mercy. For a start, she had already decided, they could hand over their contacts with the insurgency for her interrogators. And after that ... she hadn't decided, but they would have to work to regain her favour.
“It’s possible that some of their subordinates will take over,” Patterson added. “If we made a sweet enough offer ...”
“Offer them a strong position in the post-war world,” Rani ordered. She needed the red light district – and it didn't really matter who ran it, as long as it was run properly and the insurgents were kept out. “And make sure they understand that they will be expected to be loyal.”
“They’re loyal to their money,” Patterson said. “Anything else would be unlikely.”
Rani sighed and turned back to the attack plans. The Imperial Navy’s planners had never had to worry about a fleet train, but then the Imperial Navy’s battleships hadn’t faced other battleships for thousands of years. No one was entirely sure just how much firepower the Commonwealth possessed – Trafalgar had been the closest base with any battleships on permanent station – but Rani dared not assume that they were weak. And if her battleships shot their magazines dry, they’d be nothing more than big expensive targets for enemy missiles.
Typically, the ammunition ships the Imperial Navy had designed had been intended for its lighter units, the workhorses of the fleet, rather than battleships. Rani had had to order fifty freighters converted into support ships, just to ensure that she had enough missiles on hand to meet any conceivable requirement, and then redesign several more to allow her to tranship missiles into the battleships. When the time came to design newer battleships, she promised herself, they would be constructed to make it easier to reload outside a shipyard. How had the Imperial Navy not realised that was a dangerous thing to overlook?
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 39