by Jay Allan
“And you know what’s been happening when the Marines go on leave,” Carola added. “How long will it be before they start sending their recruits on leave?”
“Yes,” Wilhelm agreed. The Marines who had gone on leave had been mugged—or, rather, muggers had tried to mug them. The results had been several fatalities and at least thirty would-be muggers in the hospital, recovering from the beatings they had taken. The Marines, unlike the Civil Guard, hadn’t hesitated to hand out broken bones, if only to make their point. Various criminal gangs had responded by putting out contracts on the Marines, but so far they’d had no takers. No one wanted to see what would happen if they managed to kill a Marine. “They’d start cleaning up the city.”
They contemplated the possibility of an armed citizenry demanding better civil government for a long moment. It wasn’t a good thought. In theory, the new recruits would remain in debt and would be unable to vote, but there was no guarantee that they would accept it. Worse, the Marines were paying them well … they might even pay off their debts and claim a vote. If that happened, the Council’s monopoly would be shattered beyond repair. It could not be allowed to happen.
“I’ll send the messenger,” he said, finally. A Council-issued pass would take someone out of the city without being questioned, yet if one of the honest Guardsmen caught sight of it, it would raise questions they would prefer not to be asked. “And then I think we’d better pull our heads in and wait to see what happens.”
“I’m going to keep working on Fiona,” Carola added. “The silly woman might just know something useful after all.”
-o0o-
Lucas Trent rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up, feeling the sweat running down towards his waist. The heat in the badlands had always surprised him, ever since they had first set up the hidden camp and he sometimes wondered why the badlands didn’t simply catch fire and burn to the grounds. The explanation was simple enough; the network of underground reservoirs that fed most of the plants in the badlands helped keep their temperature down. It might have been normal for a native resident of Avalon—if such mythical creatures had ever existed—but it was uncomfortable as hell for a human.
The girl stared up at him blankly as he pulled on his trousers. Her mind was long gone now, leaving only an automaton that followed orders and just lay there when he wanted sex. There was something about the heat that made him horny—it had never been so hot on Earth, where the Undercity had been dank and cold—and he could indulge himself as often as he liked. He touched the girl’s chest with his foot and rubbed her breast for a long moment, before turning and heading out of the cave. There was business to be done.
He peered through the foliage that hid the camp, even from the Marines and their sensors, towards another hidden cave. The messenger from their friends in Camelot was waiting there, served by a pair of girls Lucas and the Knives had taken from a homestead near the badlands. They might have had to pull in their horns and hide since the Marines had shown up, but there was no point in sparing themselves the creature comforts—besides, it kept the man’s mind focused. One day, Lucas had every intention of killing their friends at Camelot—who he was sure would change sides when the pressure grew too high for them to bear—but until then, he would work with them. He needed what they were offering.
Carefully remaining under the foliage, he made his way into the cave and dismissed the two girls. They weren’t broken yet and had to be escorted everywhere, just to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid like lighting a fire in the middle of camp. The messenger looked up and smiled at him, but Lucas could taste the man’s fear. He had never expected to find himself playing for such high stakes, in a game where he was nothing more than a pawn. Lucas could have killed him at any moment and he knew it.
“So,” he said, without preamble. “Your masters want me to hit our new friends as hard as possible.”
“Yes,” the messenger said. “They believe that there is a window of opportunity to hit the Marines now, before they can build up their forces and start pressing against the badlands.”
“How lucky for them,” Lucas said, dryly. “And what can they offer to convince me to take my men out of the badlands and attack the Marine base?”
“They have pulled some heavy weapons out of Camelot Garrison,” the messenger said, referring to the Civil Guard base near the city. “They believe that you will find them useful.”
Lucas kept his face blank, trying not to show how eager he was to get his hands on the weapons. It was easy to obtain small arms and rifles, but heavier weapons were harder, even with the Civil Guardsmen being so easy to bribe. It showed how much importance his patrons placed on the attack, for heavy weapons could easily be turned against them as well. Lucas was sure that they expected him to turn on them one day—after all, he expected the same. Treachery was part of the human condition. They wouldn’t be keen on his plans to set up a kingdom out near the badlands.
“Very well,” he said, making his mind up quickly. “When will the weapons arrive?”
“In five days,” the messenger said. “I have been told to inform you that they will be dispatched by a roundabout route and handed over at Point Alpha. They wish you to attack as quickly as possible.”
“Do they indeed,” Lucas said. A plan was already forming in his head. Attacking the Marine platoon house was suicide, but perhaps there was another way. “They can wait until the heavy weapons arrive … and then we’ll see.”
The messenger smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He looked more than a little relieved that it had been so easy, but then, the Knives were going stir crazy in their lair. They weren’t used to hiding. “They were quite happy with the last shipment you sent into the city.”
“I’m sure that they were,” Lucas said. He grinned. “A shipment of whores and drugs would have made their day.”
CHAPTER 30
War is a democracy in the truest possible sense. The enemy gets a vote.
- Major-General Thomas Kratman (Ret), A Civilian’s Guide to the Terran Marine Corps.
“I have the latest reports from Company Delta, sir,” Lieutenant Ryan Spencer reported. “They’re on their way back to the Fort.”
Major George Grosskopf nodded. Fort Galahad—the Arthurian theme couldn’t be escaped, even outside Camelot itself—was the main Civil Guard base near the badlands, even though it was too far away to have any immediate influence on the surrounding area. It had been built before the badlands and their nature had been fully understood and, so far, the Council had refused to allow the Civil Guard to construct any bases closer to the badlands. It made little sense to George—the Council needed the homesteads intact until the homesteaders paid off their debts—but the precise reasoning hardly mattered.
The Fort was actually his favourite place on the planet, untouched by politics and officers he’d been forced to promote at the Council’s strong urging. He’d reinforced the garrison after the Marines had smashed the bandit raiding party three weeks ago and urged the Fort’s CO to organise a regular patrol schedule, patrolling the surrounding area and trying to deter any retaliation from the badlands. Four hundred Civil Guardsmen, his most capable soldiers, now inhabited the Fort. Having so many men so far from Camelot worried him, but the Council had been sanguine about the risk. Didn’t they have the Marines to call upon in case of emergency?
He scowled down at the map, thinking cold thoughts. The Council had refused his request to pay his own men in cash, even local credits. The Civil Guard had always had a surplus of recruits, even if they did lose half of their monthly pay to the debt sharks, but now that surplus was dying up. Young men were signing up to join the Marines instead, adding their names to the lists and awaiting the call-up to the training centres. George knew that several of the more competent Guardsmen were talking about refusing to reenlist and, instead, trying to join the Marines. Why should they not? The Council didn’t give a damn about them.
The Marine platoon house was thirty kilometres to the
north, far too close to the badlands for comfort, even if they had been left alone so far. Of course, the bandits—unlike the Crackers—were cowards. They were happy picking on unarmed homesteaders, but less inclined to take on someone who could and would fight back. Fort Galahad itself had never been attacked by the bandits, although the Crackers had attacked it on several occasions, reminding the men in the fort that they existed. George envied the Marines their position, even though two platoons of Marines would be seriously overstretched if they ran into trouble. A bandit gang leaving the badlands might be detected and attacked before it could kill any helpless civilian.
“Tell them to take their time,” George ordered. If nothing else, Delta Company could sweep through the local area and remind the bandits that they existed. “There’s no need to hurry.”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer said. “I’ll send the signal at once.”
George shrugged and returned to his brooding, allowing the younger officer to slip away. The Marines had served as a goad to his competent officers, pushing them to start patrolling much more aggressively than they had done before the Marines arrived. The less competent officers had taken the time to mock the Marines, asking who was going to clean up the mess after the Marines were gone and what would happen when the Crackers finally launched their mass attack on the government, particularly now that their starships had departed. It didn’t bear thinking about.
An alarm rang. “Major, we just picked up an emergency transmission from Morgan,” Spencer said, bursting back into George’s office. “They’re under heavy attack.”
George pulled himself to his feet and strode into the dispatch room. “Report,” he barked. “What’s going on at Morgan?”
“The report says that at least a hundred bandits appeared out of nowhere and started attacking the town,” the dispatcher said. “The signal was lost moments later and I have been unable to raise them.”
“Poor bastards,” George said. The bandits were finally striking back in response to the loss of their base. It was brute force on an unforgivable scale. “Mobilise Alpha and Beta Companies; tell them I want them ready to depart in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” the dispatcher said. Alpha Company had been on QRA; they should be ready to depart by now, with Beta Company just behind. They might not have been Marines, but their reaction time was commendably fast. “Delta Company is reporting in and asking for orders.”
George glanced up at the map, mentally placing Delta Company’s position in context. He swore under his breath. Delta Company was out of position, even though they were armed and ready to move. It would take longer to get them to Morgan than it would to move both of the QRA companies at Fort Galahad.
“Tell them to double-time it back to the Fort,” he ordered. “We’ll use them as backstop if we run into trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” the dispatcher said.
“Pass the alert up the chain to Camelot and Castle Rock and tell them that we need some helicopter support out here,” George added. “And tell them that I’m taking command personally.”
Spencer blinked. “Sir?”
“It’s not debatable,” George snapped, still studying the map. They couldn’t get to Morgan in time to prevent the bandits from sacking the town, but if they moved fast, they could get into position to block the bandits from escaping. With the other townships alerted, they’d have to be careful not to run right into a trap. “You are to remain here; keep sending updates back to the city.”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer said. “Good luck, sir.”
-o0o-
Eric Passover watched, grinning openly, as Morgan died. The township hadn’t been very important, even though it served as a crossroads for the network of roads that stretched out of Camelot and up towards the badlands. It had fallen into a moribund changelessness that drove young men and women away to other homesteads or down to the city, leaving it occupied by the very young and the very old. The farmers had paid their taxes to the government, their debt interest to the debt sharks and their tribute to the bandits, which was one of the reasons why they had been so badly surprised when the bandits appeared and opened fire. They hadn’t realised that they’d just been pawns in a greater game.
He felt his mouth fall open in delight as the flames licked higher into the sky. Unlike many of the other bandits, Eric had little time for rape and less for looting—it was the pure art of destruction he craved. It had been impossible to destroy one of the city-blocks on Earth—they’d been built so solidly that a nuclear warhead wouldn’t do more than scratch their paint—but on Avalon, everything burnt. The wind blew and sheets of flame spread rapidly, jumping from house to house. The ground shook as an underground store of fuel caught fire and exploded, sending a billowing fireball raging up into the air. Eric laughed out loud, feeling his inner self jumping for joy at such destruction. The flames would spread into the fields and burn the crops to the ground. Who knew how far they would spread in the hot weather?
“Hey, Eric,” one of his men shouted. “Come and have some fun with this babe here?”
Eric followed his gaze. Three of the bandits were holding down a girl from the homestead, having torn away her clothes and exposed her body to their gaze. They’d already had her, fucking her despite her screams and protests, and would have her again once Eric took a turn, if he took a turn. He looked at her and, despite the almost sexual excitement of the blaze, shook his head. There was something pure about burning a township to the ground, while raping a girl was just … squalid. The bandits shrugged and returned to their fun, while Eric walked outside the township, passing the untouched buildings on the way. The blaze shifted and a wave of heat struck him in the face, just before the remaining buildings suddenly caught fire. He saw a woman’s face in one of them, her face contorted in agony, before the flames swept over her and she was gone. Perhaps it was the smoke, or the lack of oxygen, or perhaps she’d been burned to a crisp instantly. It didn’t matter. Eric had killed her and destroyed her home.
His radio buzzed once, a warning. The Civil Guard had finally responded to the atrocity and they were on their way. He took one last look at the destruction and pulled a whistle out of his pocket, blowing it as loudly as he could. All over the ruined township, the bandits dropped whatever they were doing and ran for the edge of town. Behind them, the girls they’d been raping crawled away, hunting blindly for a safety that no longer existed. Eric’s grin grew wider as he contemplated their feelings. Their lives had been ruined and it had all been because of him.
“Come on,” he shouted, at the handful of stragglers. The Knife had put him in command simply because he wouldn’t waste time raping when it was time to run. “We don’t have time to waste!”
He was still laughing as they fled towards where they’d hidden the nags.
-o0o-
Edward had been trying to plot out the next training schedule when Gwen poked her head into his office. “Captain,” she said, “there’s been a report of a township coming under heavy attack. The Civil Guard is moving to intercept the bandits.”
“Put the ready platoons at the platoon house on alert,” Edward ordered, although he was sure that Gwen would have already seen to it. There were certain orders that always had to be issued. “Have they requested support from us?”
“No, sir,” Gwen said. “Major Grosskopf has requested helicopter support from the spaceport, but he’s made no direct request for our involvement. That may change, of course.”
“Of course,” Edward agreed. He checked his personal weapons out of habit. “Get the Raptors up and ready to fly if we have to move in support.” He glanced up at the training roster and swore. “Contact Jared and tell him to terminate the current exercise; we’re going to need 4th Platoon to join 3rd on QRA. The trainees can practice something else for a while.”
“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. “I took the liberty of warning him that that might be coming.”
Edward scowled. Real battles didn’t end when one side found it convenient,
nor were they terminated because the opposing side had to go fight elsewhere. It couldn’t be helped, but it was sending the wrong message to the new recruits. He briefly considered putting them on the defence line and adding 5th Platoon to the QRA force, but they couldn’t be trusted, not yet. Castle Rock would come under attack eventually—it occurred to him that the bandit attack might be a diversion—and by then he intended to be ready.
“Good,” he said. The waiting was always the hardest part of any military operation. “Keep me informed.”
-o0o-
George winced as the Rover Armoured Fighting Vehicle ran over a pothole, shaking the entire vehicle badly enough to make him feel sick. The Rover was a locally-produced, built by one of the industries owned by the Wilhelm Family from a design that had been old when spaceflight was young. George wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Patton, Montgomery or even Lee would have ridden to war in them, even though the Empire had added additional armour and protection for their troops. The masters of lightning warfare would have understood the problem he faced, all right; the Imperial Army had always had the advantage of overwhelming firepower and a stupendous logistic chain. That wasn’t true of the Civil Guard.
He peered out of the vehicle as they bounced along the road. By his admittedly imprecise calculations, the bandits would have to pass through a certain area before they could reach the badlands and safety. Alpha Company’s vehicles were moving faster than the bandits could move on their nags and should be able to block them before they escaped. Alpha Company might be only lightly armed compared to a Marine unit, but the bandits wouldn’t have any heavy weapons with them at all. He cursed the terrain as they kept moving forward, knowing that it was closing in on them. The local townships were meant to keep foliage cut back from the roads, but as they weren’t paid for the duty, they did it with little enthusiasm, when they did it at all.