“Good,” she said.
Looking back at the display, she thought through her options and conceded that they were remarkably limited. She would just have to improvise and keep feeding troops down to the spaceport – and hope that the spaceport wasn't assaulted heavily enough to fall, despite the presence of her troops. But if there was a Marine commanding the opposing faction ... she shook her head. Surely an experienced Marine would know his forces were no match for hers in a stand-up battle.
But if he has far more men to burn than us, he might think it’s worth the cost, she thought, sourly. But will his own people let him waste their lives?
She shook her head. There was no way to know.
***
Thomas ducked under cover as the mortar shells crashed down on the spaceport, doing remarkably little damage. The locals hadn't done a bad job, he had to admit; the barracks were hardened against outside attack while the runways themselves were solid and incredibly hard to damage without specialised equipment. He glanced at his HUD, then kept barking orders. It was quite possible that the mortars were intended to force him and his men to take cover while the enemy forces closed in on the spaceport from all sides.
“Get up to the fence,” he ordered, as the explosions faded away. In their absence, he could hear shooting, but it was hard to tell where the shooting was coming from. It seemed as if the entire surrounding area was trapped in a civil war. “And launch two drones!”
He took another glance at his HUD, then followed his men outside. The fence surrounding the spaceport would stop petty thieves, but it wouldn't slow down a determined assault for more than a few seconds. Indeed, at least one mortar shell had come down close enough to the fence to knock part of it down. Outside, there were several metres of grass and then the start of the urban sprawl. The more he looked at it, the less he liked it. A major enemy attack could come quite close to the spaceport without being detected, as long as the enemy soldiers were careful. And then he heard the sound of incoming shells again.
“Hit the deck,” he bellowed. He heard the sound of shooting growing louder too, just before the first set of shells crashed to the ground. They seemed to be firing randomly into the spaceport, rather than targeting specific buildings, something that struck him as odd. Surely they’d had enough time to range their weapons and calculate firing angles positions properly. “Any news on the drones?”
“They’re both gone,” a soldier called back to him. “Five seconds of flight ... and then they were taken down.”
Definitely dealing with a smartass, Thomas thought. The rebels clearly understood both the value and vulnerability of man-portable drones. It wasn't as if they were difficult to hit, once the shooter had a rough idea of their location. They must have anticipated our move.
He glanced back, just in time to see a new shuttle fall out of the sky and come to a halt, bare metres above the ground. The noise of its engines rose to a crescendo as it lowered itself the final few metres to the ground, then popped open its hatches. A line of men ran out, half of them clearly unwell; Thomas felt a moment of sympathy, then pushed it aside ruthlessly. The reinforcements could secure the rest of the spaceport before they tried to push their zone of control outside the complex.
The sound of shooting grew even louder as the rebels started to fire into the complex from the surrounding area. They didn't seem to intend to try to actually overrun the spaceport, something that nagged at his mind; instead, they just fired whenever they saw a target. Thomas barked orders, detailing snipers to return fire, sweeping the buildings the enemy were using as firing platforms. If there were civilians in the buildings ... he shook his head, bitterly. They’d have to take their chances.
Two more shuttles landed, unloading a small battery of self-propelled guns along with additional soldiers. A third shuttle came in to land, only to be struck by a mortar shell and fall the remaining few metres out of the sky. Thomas braced himself as it struck the ground, but there was no explosion. Instead, the entire spacecraft was rapidly evacuated.
“Get the radar up and running,” he ordered, as the firing grew even louder. “I want you firing back at the mortar shells!”
The gunners were well trained; they set up their guns, then opened fire, using radars to track the enemy shells back to their launchers. It was clear that the rebels were breaking down their weapons and switching position after each shot, but could they do it quickly enough to escape the inevitable response? Thomas briefly considered calling orbit and requesting orbital fire support, despite the threat to civilians caught in the battlefield, then relaxed slightly as the weight of incoming fire started to drop off. The rebels were either losing men or playing it more carefully, now the CEF was countering their shells.
He glanced back to see the remaining shuttles leaping upwards, clawing for space in a desperate attempt to outrun prospective missiles, then started barking orders to the newcomers. Thankfully, most of their chain of command had survived intact – and that they’d been trained to take orders from Marines, even if he wasn't their formal commanding officer. The person on the spot, after all, knew more about what was going on than the new arrivals. Thomas smiled briefly, then watched as the soldiers took up positions around the spaceport, shielding themselves from incoming shells as best as they could. They’d have to start advancing out from the spaceport as soon as possible.
We’re going to need more protection, he thought, grimly. It hadn't been so hair-raising on Han ... or Avalon, for that matter. And probably more ammunition.
Bracing himself, he keyed his communicator. “This is Stewart,” he said, checking the live feed from the HUD. As always, orbital observation wasn't entirely useful for immediate action. “I am requesting permission to advance.”
***
Pete had to admit, however reluctantly, that the CEF was well-trained. They’d taken heavy losses during their landing, but the survivors had secured the spaceport and were landing more troops, despite the best efforts of Pete’s mortars. Indeed, they were showing a remarkable sense of restraint, compared to the Empire. If half the stories Pete had heard about Han were true, the Empire hadn't hesitated to fire KEWs into cities, just to eradicate alarmingly persistent snipers. But then, the Empire had never given a damn about civilian casualties.
“Sir,” one of his spotters snapped. “The reinforcements are taking up positions outside the city!”
“Interesting,” Pete mused. He didn't need to look at a map to understand what the security forces were doing. Rather than poke their heads into the territory controlled by the criminal gangs, they were sealing off the escape routes and waiting for the CEF to flush the insurgents towards them. Hammer and anvil, he noted; the tactic was older than firearms themselves. “They must have regained control of their communications networks.”
He briefly considered his options, then sighed. There was only one realistic option, now the security forces were recovering and moving rapidly to block his escape.
“Launch the flare,” he ordered. “And then leave the blocking force in place while the rest of us fall back.”
***
Thomas wished, with a sudden bitterness that surprised him, that he had a whole division of Terran Marines behind him. Clearing out cities was something Marines were trained to do, even though the CEF had gained some experience of its own during the first deployment. But he knew that far too many of the soldiers who were following him had no real experience ... and they were about to start learning the hard way.
He kept his head down as he led the way towards the first complex of buildings, a nightmarish mixture of transit dorms and warehouses for new immigrants and their possessions. His awareness shrank rapidly as he crossed the line and entered the complex, leaving him only truly aware of the soldiers following him. In the distance, he could still hear the sound of mortar fire and snipers taking shots in and out of the spaceport, but they didn't matter. All that mattered was his local awareness.
Bracing himself, he peered around the
corner into an empty dorm. It had been stripped bare of everything moveable, leaving only the framework of bunk beds and a shower complex that had once served hundreds of people. One wall was covered with a mural, welcoming the immigrants to Thule. Thomas’s lips quirked in silent amusement – it looked as though it had been painted by schoolchildren, then vandalised by young adults – before he could make his way out of the dorm. Outside, two wrecked vehicles were propped against the wall.
A shot rang out. Thomas ducked instinctively, then caught sight of the sniper, hiding in the next building. He barked orders, then led one group of soldiers towards the building while a second group covered their advance. If the sniper showed himself again, he’d be in for a nasty surprise. But no shots rang out as they reached the door and slapped an explosive charge against the metal, blowing it open. Thomas threw a smoke grenade into the building, then followed, relying on his visor to see through the smoke. If the insurgents weren't similarly prepared, they would be blinded.
The soldiers moved from room to room, advancing up the stairs and making their way through a network of offices. They saw no sign of the enemy until they reached the third floor, when another shot ran out. Thomas saw the enemy sniper and fired back, hitting the sniper in the head. He felt an odd moment of tired satisfaction as he stepped forward, examining the body from a distance. There had been insurgents in the past who had booby-trapped their own bodies, just to try to kill another soldier.
Just a kid, he thought. The insurgent had been young – around sixteen, if he was any judge – before his death. He wondered, absently, if the youngster had been an ideologue or someone who had been lured into the insurgency through a desire for fame or simple poverty, then pushed the thought aside. All that mattered, right now, was that he was dead.
They swept through the rest of the complex, then moved on to the next one. Two more snipers greeted them, one managing to wound a soldier before being killed by a grenade hurled by the soldier’s comrade. The other stumbled and fell down a flight of stairs while trying to escape, breaking his neck when he hit the bottom. Thomas noted the body’s position and pressed on. There would be time to sweep the battlefield later.
He paused outside the complex, checking the location of the other soldiers. They were, to all intents and purposes, advancing on a wide front, something that spread his forces very thin. He linked into the command datanet and checked on the shuttles, but he needed a reserve now. If one force ran into trouble, he didn't have much in place to provide immediate support. But he also needed to push the enemy as far back from the spaceport as possible.
“Bring in the additional shuttles as soon as possible,” he ordered. He’d just have to designate one of the new units as the reserve – and hope they arrived before something went spectacularly wrong. “And request additional fire support ASAP.”
We should have planned for a hostile landing, he thought, as he straightened up and began to issue the next set of orders. Right now, we don't have enough men to secure the buildings we clear.
He heard the sound of shuttles flying overhead and allowed himself to relax, slightly. They’d passed through the danger zone, thankfully. Now, all they had to do was keep pushing the enemy back and clearing buildings. And then they could hand the region over to the locals.
***
“Rifleman Stewart is requesting additional support,” Michael reported.
“Send him whatever he needs,” Jasmine ordered. Her conversation with the planet’s defenders was distracting her from monitoring the battle, but she knew better than to override the person on the ground without good reason. “Keep me informed.”
She looked back at the display, trying to understand the tactics the enemy were using. None of them quite made sense, apart from the first attack. If she’d been facing the CEF, she would have rigged half the buildings surrounding the spaceport with IEDs, just to make life difficult for the advancing soldiers. Even a handful of IEDs would have slowed her forces down long enough to allow the rebels to make their escape. Instead, they seemed to have deployed a handful of rebels merely to take a shot or two at her men before being killed. It didn't quite make sense.
The enemy CO was a Marine, one with considerable experience. He knew what he would be facing and how best to counter it. So why wasn't he doing it? Jasmine had wondered, unwilling to accept that a Marine might be involved, if he was a faker, but Colonel Stalker had assured her that he was quite real. And that meant ... ?
And that means there’s something I’m not seeing, she thought. A missing piece of the puzzle. But what am I missing?
Chapter Eighteen
If this wasn't bad enough, the social scientists who were more aware of the political realities on Earth (not on the planet being ‘assisted’) proved adept at ensuring that local powers connected with their political masters were backed by the Empire’s military, regardless of their local level of influence.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
In the end, they made it out just in time.
The one great advantage insurgents possessed was the ability to look just like civilians. Thousands of civilians had started to flee the area around the spaceport as soon as the shooting started; it had been simple enough to join them, even as the security forces were setting up roadblocks and cordons. It would be a while yet, Pete judged, before they were ready to start trying to detain everyone who wanted to leave the area. By the time they started, most of his people would be out and making their way back towards the Zone.
He looked back towards the spaceport as they headed northwards. Great plumes of smoke were rising up, while he could still hear the sound of shooting in the distance. It would take the newcomers some time to realise, he calculated, that most of the insurgents had broken contact completely. The only defenders of the area now were criminals, trying to keep the newcomers out of their territory. Given the nature of the defenders, Pete found it hard to care how many of them were killed by the advancing soldiers.
Another shuttle dropped down from high orbit, launching flares to distract incoming missiles ... if any missiles had been launched. Pete had only a handful, after all, despite his sources of off-world weapons. He’d made the decision not to risk more than a handful of them, no matter the prize. The security forces could not be allowed to deploy helicopters and CAS aircraft without hindrance or the insurgents would operate at a heavy disadvantage. But as long as they believed the rebels had antiaircraft weapons ...
He turned and joined the others, trying hard to look like a fleeing civilian. The engagement, as far as he was concerned, was over. Now, all he had to do was make it back to safety and then he could start planning the next operation.
***
The building looked harmless. Thomas eyed it tiredly as the soldiers surrounded it, then led the charge at the front door. It exploded inwards, allowing them to pour into the building and stare in surprise. Outside, the building looked worn down and shabby. Inside ... it looked surprisingly luxurious. The floors were carpeted, the walls were decorated with paintings ... each one erotic enough to make him look away, embarrassed. Some of the positions they depicted were impossible for anyone other than a trained athlete.
He heard a whimper from behind an adjourning door and kicked it open, weapon at the ready. Inside, there were seven girls, ranging in age from sixteen to twenty-five, all as naked as the day they were born. The door had been locked, he realised dully, and – judging from the marks on their wrists – the girls spent a lot of time restrained. Two of them bore the signs of a beating too. They cowered back from him and his men, gibbering slightly.
“Don’t worry,” he said, knowing they wouldn't believe him. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Gently, he urged the girls outside as the soldiers searched the rest of the brothel. Upstairs, they found a handful of tiny rooms, each one holding a bed and a bucket of warm water. It was clear, Thomas decided, that the brothel was very low-mar
ket, probably only charging a handful of coins for its services. Compared to the legalised brothels on Avalon, it was filthy as hell and probably a breeding ground for disease. Chances were, he guessed, that none of the girls were there willingly. He’d seen the signs before, on a dozen worlds.
“Get them to the aid station,” he ordered. Now the shuttles were landing in force, one of the spaceport barracks had been turned into a medical centre. Wounded soldiers, a handful of POWs and a number of civilians who’d been caught up in the fighting had already been sent there. “And see if they can be interviewed, later.”
He sighed, inwardly, as he led the way out of the brothel and back onto the streets. The sound of shooting was dying away; a quick check showed that resistance had fallen to almost nothing. Instead of encountering enemy fighters, the advancing soldiers were discovering small pockets of civilians, cowering in their homes as if they expected to be shot upon discovery. The advancing soldiers reassured them as best as they could, searched briefly for weapons, then left them behind. There was no point in trying to detain them, not now.
Shaking his head, he checked his HUD again. The local security forces were responding in force now, their roadblocks firmly in place. Unlike the CEF’s soldiers, they had the manpower to detain everyone who tried to leave. Still, Thomas suspected they were too late to catch anyone important. The enemy seemed to have melted away completely.
And the more we spread out our forces, he thought, the greater the chance someone will get behind us.
He checked the spaceport security arrangements, then resumed the advance. It wouldn't be long, he told himself, before they reached the local forces. At that point, they could return to the spaceport and get some rest while the higher-ups sorted out their next move.
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