Gritting her teeth, she turned and walked out of the cell. It was all she could do to walk slowly and steadily towards the entrance, feeling sweat pricking at the back of her neck. Some of the policemen were thugs, true, but others were experienced officers with years on the streets. Surely they would sense that something was wrong ...
... But no one moved to stop her as she left the building and headed down the street, passing the homeless bums as she walked. She wondered, absently, if any of them were actually observers, or if they were just what they seemed to be. The police sometimes ignored them, sometimes treated them as criminals and sometimes tried to help. Mara reached the corner, glanced at her watch, then looked back at the police station. She was just in time to see the blast.
The entire building shook, violently. Windows, made from reinforced glass, exploded outwards, shattered by the sheer force of the blast. The walls, unsurprisingly, remained intact, almost undamaged. Flames roared through what remained of the building, glowing an odd series of colours as chemicals – both hers and the chemicals used for forensic work – caught fire. If there were any survivors, Mara didn't see them in the wake of the explosion.
She felt an odd pang of regret as she turned and made her way towards the Zone. Some of the cops hadn't been too bad to her; they’d almost been friendly, even to the point of making cups of tea and coffee for the cleaning lady. Others ... others had only been deterred from cornering her by the disapproval of their fellows. But, in the end, both the decent cops and the bastards had been working to uphold a system that needed to be destroyed. It might have started out with good intentions, but it had mutated into a monster.
And Sandi will cheer, she thought. Her cousin had been arrested – a case of mistaken identity, as it turned out. She’d still been badly abused by the time she was released. The guilty have been punished.
Turning her back, she walked on. Behind her, the city started to fall into chaos.
***
Constable Gunter Schmitz liked to think that he was doing his duty by his city. His father had been a policeman, his grandfather had been a policeman ... and his great-grandfather had been an immigrant from Earth, who’d once been in the Civil Guard. Being a policeman meant more than just policing, he'd been told; it meant being a friend as well as a supervisor to the public. If they trusted you, his father had said, when he’d graduated from the academy, they were likely to bring matters to you, rather than try to take them into their own hands.
But it was different now, Gunter admitted, in the privacy of his own mind. The world had changed, hundreds of thousands of people had found themselves out of work ... and they had grown to hate authority. Once, there had been nowhere a policeman couldn’t go; now, entire districts were judged too dangerous for the police unless they were in force. The weapon on his belt was just another sign that times were different. His grandfather had never carried a weapon on the streets, while his father had eventually joined the SWAT team. They’d backed up coppers who’d needed armed support.
He sighed as he peered into an alleyway. Technically, the homeless shouldn't have been there, not when it was against the law to block public access ways. But they had nowhere else to go and he was damned if he was ordering them to move. They weren't just bums, after all; some of them had once been decent families, reduced to poverty. Even their children were trying to sleep in the alley. God alone knew how long it would be before the children fell into even worse conditions. Rumour had it that some desperate families were even selling their children to pimps. It was disgusting, but they were desperate to survive.
It was worse elsewhere, he knew. He’d been part of the police force that had dispersed the rioters outside the First Speaker’s Mansion, watching grimly as young men and women were cuffed and led away to detention camps. Most of them couldn't be held for long, but by the time they were released they’d probably hate the police even more than they had before the riot started. There were rumours, whispered among the cops who liked to think they were still upholding the rules, that some of the prisoners had been abused by the guards. But anyone who asked too many questions tended to be put on shit duty ...
He froze as he heard the first explosion, then swore as he heard several others in quick succession. Everything had been quiet, too quiet. Now ... he reached for his radio and clicked the switch, only to heard nothing but static. Had something happened to the radio network or ... he caught sight of the plume of smoke and realised, to his horror, that it was alarmingly close to the police station. Gritting his teeth, he started to run towards the scene of the crime.
The building was in flames by the time he reached it – and totally deserted. There should have been a pair of policemen guarding the outer door, but they were gone. The waves of heat drove him back, convincing him – at a very basic level – that everyone inside the building was dead. Policemen had died along with their prisoners.
There was a low growl behind him. He turned, slowly, to see a mob of people slowly filing out of the nearby buildings, their gazes fixed on him – and his uniform. Once, it would have allowed him to calm them. Now, it was a symbol of their oppressors ... marking him as a target. Gunter hesitated – it was beneath his dignity to run, wasn't it? – and then made up his mind as cold ice filtered down his spine. He turned and started to run ... and then saw another mob forming in front of him. Panic gripped him as he reached for his weapon, but it was already too late. The mob closed in, pushing and shoving at his exposed face and hands. He fell to the ground, trying to shield himself ...
... And then he someone kicked him in the face. There was a moment of intense pain, a sudden chilling awareness of his skull cracking, and then nothing at all.
***
The entire building shook. Alarms started a moment later, underscoring the shouts that seemed to be coming from all around the giant mansion. First Speaker Daniel Krautman blinked in surprise as several armed men appeared from a side door, then relaxed slightly as he realised they were his security officers. The insurgents couldn't have managed to get men on his personnel security detachment, could they?
“This way, sir,” the leader said, opening a hidden doorway hidden behind a portrait of the planet's spiritual founder. She was an odd-looking woman, Daniel had often thought, but no one had removed her picture from his office. Now, he understood why. “We have to hurry.”
Inside, there was nothing more than a flight of metal stairs leading down into the basement. Daniel hesitated, then followed the leader as he led the way downwards, weapon firmly in hand. At the bottom, there was a sealed metal door, a security sensor blinking ominously beside it. The leader caught Daniel’s hand, pressed it against the sensor, then let go as the door hissed open. Daniel caught his breath in surprise. He’d been First Speaker for years and he’d never known there was a secret complex under the mansion.
“First Speaker,” a familiar voice said. Daniel turned to see General Erwin Adalbert, carrying a terminal in one hand. He couldn't help noticing that his security advisor was wearing a holster at his belt, with the flap unbuttoned. “Welcome to the Underground Bunker.”
Daniel looked around, shaking his head in disbelief. There were a dozen computer consoles, manned by a team of operators, a large electronic map of the entire planet, a holographic display of near-orbit space and several displays that blinked for attention. He knew that there were parts of the mansion that were devoted to the military, but he’d never seen this one before. How had it been kept a secret?
“It was installed when the mansion was originally built,” Adalbert explained. “The First Speaker at the time insisted that the secret should be held by the senior military officials – and even then, kept on a strict need-to-know basis. Those who work here” – he nodded to the operators – “are conditioned to keep its secrets. You would only have been brought here if there was a military or civil disaster you couldn't handle in the mansion overhead.”
Daniel glanced up at the bare ceiling, then followed Adalbert into
a smaller briefing room. It was barren, compared to the briefing rooms in the mansion itself, but somehow he found it surprisingly reassuring. A pretty female officer poured him a mug of coffee, then helped him into a seat. Adalbert stood on the other side of the table, looking down at his terminal.
After a moment, Daniel cleared his throat. “What’s happening?”
“A series of major attacks,” Adalbert said. “We’re still pulling together the reports, but there was a major explosion outside the mansion and an ongoing situation at the military spaceport, as well as hundreds of minor attacks all across the continent. Right now, we’re looking at upwards of seventy police or military installations that have come under attack, followed by rioting and uprisings that have crippled our response. Shootings in the city, several more bomb attacks in vulnerable places ... we've even had a report of soldiers firing on policemen.”
Daniel swore. “Panic? Or rebel spies?”
“We’re unsure as yet,” Adalbert said. He turned to look at the map. “Right now, our communications network is suffering the effects of a chaos virus, so we’re actually having to depend on makeshift communications systems just to pass messages. My belief, however, is that the overall objective of the attack is to engage and destroy the Commonwealth forces as they land. Everywhere else, the rebels have used hit-and-run tactics. The spaceport seems to be the only place under constant attack.”
“I see,” Daniel said. He stared down at his hands, bitterly. The military aspects of the sudden series of attacks were beyond him, but he could see the political aspects all too clearly. His political enemies would insist on harsher measures, while the Commonwealth might think twice about honouring their commitments if they couldn't even land their forces, which would be disastrous. “Can we win?”
“We’re pulling our forces back together,” Adalbert assured him. “I don't think we’re in danger of losing any more ground; we just need to gather our forces, then restore security to the city. After that, we can go on the offensive.”
Daniel knew it wouldn't be that simple. In politics, perception was often reality – particularly when someone wanted perception to be reality. The rebels wouldn't hesitate to use the attack to showcase their ability to attack anywhere, wherever they wanted to attack, while his political enemies would use it to undermine his position. There were even some of them who wanted to turn orbital weapons on the Zone, vaporising rebels and innocent civilians alike. They didn't seem to care about the prospect of mass slaughter ...
But it’s so much easier, he thought, to propose solutions if you’re not the ones responsible for carrying them out.
“Do what you have to do to restore security around the spaceport,” he said. They’d hoped – even if they hadn't quite admitted it – that the criminal gangs would keep the rebels away from the spaceport. Clearly, that hope had been worse than futile. “And then let me speak to the Commonwealth commander directly.”
“Understood, sir,” Adalbert said. “I believe that she will speak to you.”
***
Gudrun Gerhardt watched, feeling excitement and terror mingling in her breast, as the convoy of military vehicles headed towards the ambush. There were only a handful of roads leading to the spaceport, she’d been told, making the path the relief forces would use extremely predictable. And they’d be in a hurry, her trainers had added; they wouldn't take as much care as they usually would in their desperation to reach the spaceport.
She held her finger over the detonator as the first vehicles moved closer and closer to the waiting trap. They’d been told that they had to catch the first vehicle, using it to block the others from charging into the ambush and forcing them to retreat. She hesitated, then – at what seemed the best moment – pushed down on the trigger. The explosion was larger than she’d expected – the entire building shook violently, with pieces of plaster falling from the ceiling – but it worked. A military vehicle was picked up and flung against another building by the sheer force of the blast.
The sound of shooting broke out behind her as she turned and fled. None of the bullets seemed to come anywhere near her hiding place, so she guessed they were just firing at shadows. It was common practice, after all, to launch an attack after stalling the convoy – and the soldiers would expect it, which was why no attack had been prepared. The sound seemed to grow louder as she exited the house and started to run, joining other civilians as they fled the shooting. Even if the soldiers reacted fast enough to round up the civilians, they wouldn't be able to tell her from the rest of the civilians. What could possibly be suspicious about a blonde-haired teenage girl fleeing from an incident? No one would be stupid enough to hang around while the bullets were flying.
But no one came after her and the others. Eventually, the sound of firing died away. In the distance, she could hear more shooting – and explosions too. She’d been told that she wasn't the only volunteer ready to risk her life to give the police and military a bloody nose, but they hadn't told her anything else. After all, if they did realise that she was responsible for the blast, they would interrogate her as thoroughly as necessary to make her talk.
She kept walking, despite the risk. The rebels had given the government a bloody nose – and they would want revenge. If she didn't get out of the area before they set up roadblocks, she would have to go underground and pray the criminals didn't betray her. If they did...
Angrily, she shook her head. After her brother’s death, she would risk everything – life and liberty – to make sure her homeworld was free.
Chapter Seventeen
In some cases, the effective power structures were marginalised by the dictates from the social scientists. Warlords, who (to be fair) could be a large part of the problem were pushed aside, even though they often possessed effective power. Naturally, they went into opposition.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
Jasmine forced herself to keep her emotions in check as the situation spiralled down into chaos. She'd seen it before, time and time again, the long chilling moments when no one knew exactly what was going on ... and all seemed lost. Two shuttles were gone, two more had landed and were now under attack and she wasn't sure what she needed to do.
“Get me some images of the spaceport,” she ordered, “then get me a direct link to whoever’s in charge on the planet below!”
She gritted her teeth as the spaceport came under sustained attack. It was bad enough that the rebels had caught them on the hop, but with the locals under attack as well it was alarmingly easy to imagine them shooting at her people by accident. Even launching additional shuttles could be dangerous, if the locals really didn't know what was going on either. But what else could she do?
“Order a cruiser to move into position to drop KEWs,” she ordered, tartly. The mortar shells were falling on the spaceport, their patterns suggesting that the gunners were switching position after firing each shell. It suggested a high level of training as well as an understanding of basic counter-battery fire. But she could drop KEWs on the launchers, if she was prepared to risk firing into an urban area. “And then launch two drones.”
“I have the planet’s military commander on the line,” Michael reported. “Half of their system still seems to be down.”
Jasmine felt a flicker of reluctant admiration as she reached for the headset. The insurgents had managed a series of successes – that much was clear, just from orbital observation – and they’d managed to put her on the defensive almost at once. She had to change that, but the only way to do it was to drop reinforcements into the planet’s atmosphere, which ran the risk of being targeted by additional ground-to-air missiles. Or wait for the locals to arrive.
“This is Yamane,” she said. She hesitated; diplomacy wasn't her strong suit. “I need a sit-rep, now.”
“A number of military and police installations have come under attack,” a strongly-accented voice said. “Our forces are responding, but
the attacks on our communications and logistic networks have proven quite successful. We are having problems running reinforcements to the spaceport.”
Jasmine nodded, unsurprised. She'd seen the relief force coming under attack from orbit, running straight into an ambush that should have been predicable. But then, they’d been caught by surprise too. Gritting her teeth, she checked the status display and saw that four more shuttles were ready to launch. The problem would be getting them down to the ground safely. Perhaps she should land them outside the urban sprawl ... no, she saw as she skimmed the map, the closest safe place they could land was over ten kilometres away. Far too far to be of any immediate use.
“I intend to drop more troops into the spaceport,” she said. An idea occurred to her and she smiled. “Perhaps if your troops surround the area, rather than trying to push into the district, we will be successful in catching the gunners when they try to retreat.”
“Understood,” the voice said. “Good hunting.”
Jasmine felt her smile grow wider. “Launch hunter-killer drones, then send the shuttles down in their wake,” she ordered. A glance at the situation board told her that Rifleman Stewart had assumed command of the troops on the ground. If that had happened in the days of the Empire, she knew, it would have caused years of inquires and bureaucratic wrangling. In the Commonwealth, it hardly mattered. “And make sure the shuttles are prepped for ground fire.”
Michael worked his terminal for a long moment. “The shuttles are detaching themselves now,” he said. “Estimated ETA; five minutes.”
Jasmine winced in sympathy. The shuttles would be dropping through the atmosphere like stones, violently enough to make even hardened Marines throw up in their suits. But there was no alternative. A stately descent from high orbit would merely make them targets for hidden gunners. Even if the enemy had no more HVMs to throw at the shuttles, she knew, a lucky hit with a mortar shell could be disastrous.
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