The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps

by Christopher Nuttall

  This was a nice town once, she thought sourly, as they turned the corner and ran right towards the Crackers, firing on automatic. They might not have been able to believe their eyes, she knew; they’d only faced the Civil Guard before and the Guard wouldn't do something as insane as charging an enemy position. Jasmine’s thoughts were moving slower than her body and the reflexes she’d learned from the harshest training course in the Empire. The Crackers wouldn't be able to see her as anything other than a blur. They slashed into them as if they were made of paper...

  And then, suddenly, it was all over. The Crackers broke contact and faded away, leaving the Marines and the new soldiers to mourn their dead. Jasmine found her body shaking as she slowed down from combat reflexes, trying to relax. It wasn't easy. The bandits had been easy prey. If the Crackers had had equal training and weapons...she wasn't sure how the battle would have turned out.

  “All units, return to base,” the dispatcher ordered. “I say again...”

  “I heard,” Jasmine grunted. “We’re on our way.”

  ***

  Michael wanted to take off his helmet and pour cold water onto his head, but he didn't quite dare, not until they were safely back in the base. The AFVs and armoured Marines had formed a guard of honour for the new soldiers, covering their backs as they limped towards the base, but Michael had no illusions. They didn't look like real soldiers, not now. They looked like sweaty tramps and probably smelled bad as well. The thought couldn't even make him smile, for he felt as if he had aged a hundred years overnight. The combat had finished, but the scars it had left on his soul would never fade.

  “Thank you,” he said, as one of the base’s small complement of staff took care of the girls. The new soldiers were pointed towards their barracks and bunks, but Michael was too exhausted to even try to get into the shower. He pulled off his helmet and body armour as soon as they were safely inside the barracks and then sat down hard on the ground, unable to remain upright any longer. He had never dreamed, he had never realised, he had never understood...not until he was too late. He felt the shaking welling up from somewhere deep inside and he was no longer able to resist it. The shakes swept through his entire body, leaving him shivering on the ground. He’d been in battle; he’d survived...somehow. Not all of the men under his command had been so lucky.

  He knew that he should be seeing to them, that he should be carrying out his duties, but he couldn't muster the energy. If the Crackers had launched another attack, he would have been unable to resist and he didn't think that any of his platoon would have been in any better condition. He couldn't believe just how quickly the entire situation had simply collapsed into hell, or just how much damage both sides had done to the town. What would it be like, he asked himself, if they ever had to fight such a battle in Camelot itself?

  “Hey,” a voice said. He looked up to see the female Marine; Jasmine, her name was. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Michael growled. All the frustrations boiled up inside him. “I got some of my men killed. I might as well have killed them myself.”

  “Don’t think like that,” Jasmine advised, dryly. “It doesn't make it any easier.”

  Michael looked up at her. She didn't look tired, yet he knew she had to be tired, even though she’d been at the base rather than trapped in an isolated shop. “They knew that this was a populated town and they decided to fight in it,” he protested. “What sort of monsters are we fighting?”

  “The weapons of the weak,” Jasmine said, coldly. “Even Kappa Company could have beaten them in the open before they were disbanded. What did you expect from them? Did you expect that they would line up and be slaughtered?”

  “I expected...I don't know what I expected,” Michael admitted. “I thought that training was bad.”

  “It’s bad for a reason,” Jasmine said. “But you’re right. Open warfare is worse.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “You did all right, for your first engagement,” she added. “I did far worse on mine, despite going through the Slaughterhouse. You did fine.”

  “Thanks,” Michael said, sourly. “It's no consolation.”

  “No,” Jasmine agreed. “It never is. On the other hand, you can only lose your virginity once.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The core goal of an insurgency is to erode the government’s control and eventually cause it to collapse. The government, often having more resources on hand than the insurgents, cannot easily be toppled, unless its will can be broken. As so much else, it is mainly a matter of perception. To consider two pre-spaceflight examples, both the United States of America and France fought counter-insurgency campaigns in Vietnam and Algeria respectively. Both sides secured a military victory, but by the time they won the war the political will to win no longer existed and the wars were declared ‘lost.’

  -Major-General Thomas Kratman (Ret), A Marine’s Guide to Insurgency.

  “Is it ever going to end?”

  Edward looked up sharply at the Governor. The war had barely touched Camelot yet, but they both knew that it was just a matter of time. The Crackers had proven tougher than he’d realised and the fighting was rapidly spreading out of control. The Marines, the Army of Avalon and the Civil Guard were badly overstretched, even though they possessed vastly superior firepower to their enemies.

  “It's been five days,” the Governor continued, blankly. “Is it ever going to stop?”

  Edward shrugged. After the first battles, when the Crackers had concentrated on hitting as many bases and patrols as possible, the fighting had dulled down to a steady series of attacks and counter-attacks. The bases were regularly attacked, while patrols in the towns and countryside found themselves under open and covert attack. Five Marines had been killed, along with over forty new soldiers and Civil Guardsmen. The Crackers, by the most optimistic count, had lost around seventy fighters, a low total considering the intensity of the fighting. It was hard to know for sure. They had a habit of removing their bodies from the battlefield if possible. Edward would have admitted that under other circumstances.

  A new contact report flashed up on the main terminal and he scowled down at it. A convoy of supply trucks had come under fire briefly; the attackers had broken contact and vanished when the convoy’s escorts had returned fire. It was just another harassing raid designed to keep his men and women tired and exhausted and he had to admit that it was working. Raids into Cracker-held territory, locating bases fingered by captured prisoners, had yielded little. The Crackers had taken the art of operational security to a whole new level. If Edward hadn't known better, he would have wondered if the Crackers had been studying Marine textbooks on insurgent warfare. Their targets were carefully picked and targeted, while civilians were kept out of the crossfire as much as possible. Even so, there were over seventy confirmed civilian dead in the fighting.

  “It will stop when we beat them,” Edward said, projecting an image of calm he didn't feel. It was important to reassure the Governor, for he looked as if he were on the verge of coming apart. He’d had enough problems grasping the fact that the Council had tried to diminish his authority, let alone the fundamentals of insurgent warfare. The important thing was that they didn't lose their nerve. “They are not gods, Governor.”

  “It’s easy for you to say,” the Governor protested. “What’s to stop them from trying to cut Camelot off from our food supplies?”

  Edward knew that that was a problem, although they had handled it by amassing stores since the Marines had landed, preparing for a siege. The insurgents probably couldn't impose a physical blockade of Camelot – not unless they had enough heavy weapons to take the city in one fell swoop – but they could intimidate or harass farmers into refusing to send their produce to the city. They might not even need to be unpleasant about it. Half of the farmers – if not more – were either Crackers themselves or shared their goals. Edward had, very quietly, deployed a pair of his medics to keep a careful eye on the incoming food. Poison would
probably wipe out a third of the city if it was used properly.

  “That would also threaten their own interests,” Edward reminded him. “The farmers need the industrial produce from the city.”

  He scowled inwardly. That wasn't quite true, even though in the long run a mutual blockade would probably harm both sides. The farmers, some careful investigation had proven, had been stockpiling supplies for quite some time, aided by particularly inane Council policies that had been simply ignored. They would need re-supplying eventually, but they could go on long enough for the Crackers to win their war. In trying to preserve their monopoly, the Council had lost a chance to wean some of the farmers away from their deadly enemies, practically forcing them into enemy hands. The idiots could have cost the Empire the war.

  The thought was galling, but it had to be faced. If the Council had been willing to make compromises, they might have been able to put off the war, perhaps even avert it all together...but no, any hint of a change in policy was denounced in the Council Chamber as appeasement. The Council would quite happily fight the war to the last Civil Guardsman or common soldier, while they skulked in their mansions and made a profit off the war. The Governor’s emergency powers didn't go far enough to prevent the Council from skimming off enough money to make themselves even more powerful.

  He stared down at the map, barely seeing the notes he’d scrawled across it. The proof of High Treason they needed to find hadn't been found, not yet, leaving him wondering if the Council had realised just how badly it had been compromised. Not all of the Council were part of Carola Wilhelm’s secret cabal, but those that weren’t part of her group were isolated, abandoned without even a word of support from their Governor. As long as Carola and her allies controlled an absolute majority in the Council, they could effectively run it to suit themselves.

  The Governor coughed behind him and Edward nodded. “It’s a question of keeping our nerve and holding on to what we have,” Edward said, patiently. “By taking up positions in the townships, we force them to come out and fight, giving us a chance to reduce their numbers and prove that they can be beaten.”

  “At a high cost,” the Governor reminded him. He’d faced a Cracker insurgency before, but that had been a small thing, hardly a serious problem compared to the one they now faced. Avalon hadn't seen such high levels of violence since Peter Cracker had died and, this time, there was no Imperial Navy destroyer waiting high overhead to deal out death and destruction at command. Even if there had been such a ship, it would have been useless; the Crackers were far too close to the civilian population to risk a bombardment. Edward knew that there were Imperial Army and Navy commanders who wouldn't have flinched at the thought, but he had no intention of joining their ranks. It would have been mass slaughter. “Are we sure that it is worth it?”

  “Unless you intend to disband the Council and seek terms with the Crackers, yes,” Edward said, tightly. A hot flash of anger was buried in his mind before it could show itself on his face. The Governor didn't need a scare. “How badly do you want to have a safe, secure and prosperous Avalon by the time you leave your post?”

  “That isn't fair,” the Governor snapped back. “It isn't the task of the military to set policy objectives. They just do the fighting.”

  “And the dying,” Edward said, tightly. There were too many inexperienced young men out there, armed and terrified. They’d all had a baptism of fire over the last few days. Truthfully, he was surprised – and relieved – that it hadn't been a great deal worse. Inexperienced soldiers tended to panic and make dreadful mistakes. “If you want a policy objective secured, you do have to tell us what it is.”

  The Governor took a series of deep breaths, calming himself. “That was unworthy of me,” he said. He sounded surprisingly contrite. “I apologise.”

  “As do I,” Edward agreed, seriously. They exchanged a long glance. “Has the Council bothered to make its views known on the war?”

  “Oh, the majority have proclaimed their loud support for the war and their confidence that the Army of Avalon will bring us total victory,” the Governor said. “A couple are suggesting that we should seek terms with the Crackers, but they’re...effectively the Cracker-elected representatives.”

  Edward nodded sourly. The majority of the Councillors had been elected by the cities, because the cities had the greatest population concentrations, but a handful had been elected by the countryside, mainly by men and women who had managed to free themselves and their family of debt by the time the Council started manipulating the economy to keep the majority of the population in bondage. They might not have been actual insurgent leaders – the Crackers would have to be fools to risk their leaders in Camelot, for the Governor had vast powers if he declared martial law – but Edward would have been very surprised if they didn’t have links with the Cracker leadership. He’d seriously considered making a covert approach to them, yet the Governor had refused to even consider the possibility. Besides, what could he actually offer the Crackers? The Council would block even the tiniest concession.

  “In other words, nothing,” Edward said, grimly. “Don’t worry, Governor. We will win this war.”

  He strode out of Government House and headed across the street to his private car. Gwen had insisted on him keeping at least three bodyguards around him at all times – she took the fourth position herself – before she’d consented to allow him to leave Castle Rock. Camelot itself was being heavily patrolled by the Civil Guard, but she’d expressed no confidence in their ability to handle matters if push came to shove. Now that quite a few of their corrupt and self-serving officers had been removed, the Civil Guard should have been able to give a good account of itself, yet Gwen remained unconvinced. Edward couldn't really blame her.

  The drive back to the spaceport was uneventful, surprisingly. Patrols had discovered a handful of IEDs scattered along the road and several cars had been shot at by hidden snipers, who had melted away before they could be caught. Edward had worn his armour, expecting trouble, but nothing had materialised apart from a pair of Bloodsuckers, who had eyed his armour with disdainful eyes. They probably considered him the equivalent of tinned meat.

  He nodded approvingly as the guards at the spaceport took nothing for granted, checking his ID and that of everyone in the car before allowing them to proceed. The spaceport had been attacked by a handful of mortar teams in the first couple of days, but unlike the various deployment bases the spaceport was protected by a laser counter-battery system. The shells had all been destroyed before they could detonate and patrols had forced the mortar teams to seek safer targets elsewhere. It was lucky that the Crackers didn't resort to suicide attacks, he knew; a truck loaded with explosives could have made a real mess of the main gate and its defenders.

  “Welcome back, sir,” Lieutenant Howell said. He’d been moved to the spaceport to handle logistics now that the Company and the new units had been deployed. “I have a report on the financial situation that you need to read...”

  Edward shook his head. “Not now,” he said, firmly. As important as finances were, they didn’t compete with the war. “I don’t have the time. I’ll read it tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Howell said. “I should also add that Kitty Stevenson has arrived and is demanding to speak to you personally.”

  “That’s Colonel Stevenson to you,” Edward said, reprovingly. The various intelligence services were not well liked by those who had to do the fighting – and the dying – but he had to admit that Kitty had done a good job. “Where is she now?”

  “Room 19, wearing the floor out by pacing,” Howell explained. “I think that if you’d been with anyone, but the Governor, she would have demanded that you forget him and come back at once.”

  “I’ll see what she wants,” Edward said. He looked up at Gwen. “Coming?”

  Kitty Stevenson hadn't worn out the floor, but she looked excited and dead tired. “Captain,” she said, as Edward entered the barren room. “There’s been a very im
portant break in the case.”