***
“They’re searching the buildings! They’re searching all the buildings!”
Gudrun cursed her own mistake as she heard the cry. If she’d kept moving ... but no, the streets weren't safe for a young woman at the best of times, not here. There were horror stories about what happened to young girls who were captured by criminals, particularly ones who had a connection to the movement. She’d decided that hiding in a house owned by a sympathiser would be a smarter move than trying to make it out of the city.
But now it had blown up in her face. She hesitated, caught between two equally unpalatable alternatives. If the building was searched by the newcomers, chances were they wouldn't have access to the security database that listed known and suspected members of the insurgency and their relatives. But if it was the security forces that searched the building, they’d have access ... and they might demand to see her papers. Or, for that matter, they might insist on knowing why she wasn’t on the lease. Legally, anyone who lived in a rented house had to be listed ... and she, obviously, wouldn't be there.
And she might be betrayed by her host. Even if he didn't want to betray her, or wasn't tempted by the reward money, his family were at risk. Would he keep his silence if his five-year-old daughter was threatened? How could she blame him if he talked? She thought, briefly, about the pistol she’d concealed in her pocket, then dismissed the thought. It wasn't in her to kill a man and his family just because they might betray her. Besides, even if he kept his mouth shut, she might still be uncovered. She was too old to be his daughter, after all.
“I’ll leave,” she decided. Maybe she could keep her head down and escape unnoticed. “As long as you say nothing, you won’t be harmed.”
She considered, briefly, dumping the pistol, but shook her head. Despite her two weeks in the training camp, she was a slight girl, unable to fight off someone who really wanted to beat her down. It was better to have the weapon and not need it than need it and not have it. She nodded to her host, then headed through the door. Behind her, she thought she heard him heave a sigh of relief.
Outside, she could smell burning in the air as she made her way down the alleyway, slipping past a handful of sleeping bums. None of them so much as twitched at her passing, perhaps because they were trying to remain unnoticed ... or perhaps because they had spent too much of their time drowning their sorrows in cheap alcohol. The government taxed it – the government taxed everything these days – but the bums still bought it from bootleg dealers who didn't bother to pay. There were times when Gudrun wondered if the government quietly allowed the alcohol to be distributed, believing it helped keep people quiet. The hell of it was that they were probably right.
“Halt!”
Gudrun almost jumped out of her skin, then spun around to see three men standing in the crossroads pointing weapons at her. They wore grey urban camouflage uniforms, she realised, but not the same design as those worn by the security forces. The off-worlders, she decided, as she kept herself very still. It was possible she might be able to bluff her way out of trouble.
“I’m just trying to get home,” she stammered. It dawned on her, suddenly, that she might be in far worse danger than she’d realised. Some security force units had been reported to commit rapes, particularly when deployed to restive parts of the planet. Would the off-worlders be any better? “I ...”
“Stay still,” one of the men ordered. He stepped forward and frisked her with brutal efficiency. Gudrun felt her entire body tense as he found the pistol and removed it from her pocket, then aimed a kick at his knee. He dodged it effortlessly, then pushed her roughly to the ground. “Who are you, I wonder?”
Gudrun gasped in pain as her hands were pulled behind her back and secured firmly with a plastic tie. She felt him search her again, more thoroughly, then haul her to her feet and press her against a wall. His comrade said something she barely heard through the sudden roaring in her ears, the dull awareness that she was about to vanish into the system. She’d been caught with a weapon ... she should have dumped it, despite the risk. They'd know she wasn't an ordinary citizen now.
She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.
***
Thomas looked up in some surprise as the prisoner was pushed into his presence. She was a young blonde girl, around twenty years old, wearing what looked like a shapeless shirt and a pair of loose trousers. The bitter resignation on her face made his heart twinge, before he reminded himself that the female of the species could be far deadlier than the male. Besides, he'd known enough female Marines to know that women were far from helpless.
“She was carrying a weapon, sir,” the soldier who'd caught her said. “Personal weapons are illegal here.”
“Good thinking,” Thomas said. It struck him as strange – Avalon had almost no controls on who could own a weapon at all – but the soldier was right. Someone carrying a weapon in a war zone was almost certainly an insurgent. “Escort her back to the spaceport, then secure her with the other POWs. And then report to the duty officer there.”
He watched them go, making a mental note to ensure that the suspected insurgent was fast-tracked for interrogation. She might well know something that could be used against her former allies ... and even if she didn't, she could be probed for insight. And if she wasn’t an insurgent, as unlikely as that seemed, her innocence would be proven in short order.
Sighing, he turned to follow his soldiers as they advanced towards the roadblock. Meeting another friendly force in the midst of a combat zone wasn't easy, even when both forces had trained together. Thomas had watched enough renditions of friendly fire incidents to know that it was alarmingly easy to kill someone on the same side, completely accidentally. This time, one force had never met the other before.
“Tell them we’re coming,” he said. “And hurry.”
***
Jasmine allowed herself a moment of relief as she watched, from high overhead, as both forces linked up. The locals hadn't started shooting at her people, thankfully, and there hadn't been any incidents that might have produced bad feelings on both sides. And the enemy seemed to have just faded away. The only contacts for over half an hour had been criminals or people defending their homes, not insurgents.
She looked over at Michael, who looked nervous. “How many prisoners did we take?”
“Twelve, nine of whom are believed to be confirmed insurgents,” Michael reported. “The other three are uncertain, but were caught in position to observe our advance.”
“I see,” Jasmine said.
She sighed, inwardly. They’d been meant to spend some time arguing out the Rules of Engagement for operations on Thule. The Commonwealth’s might be different from the locals, after all, and there would be diplomatic incidents if her forces accidentally broke local ROE. Not to mention, she knew, the problems caused by detaining local civilians who turned out to be completely innocent. Everything had been much simpler on Avalon – or even Lakshmibai. There, they’d been free to take whatever precautions they liked without fear of setting off a diplomatic nightmare.
“Keep the prisoners under guard for now,” she ordered, finally. They’d have to sort out how to handle them with the locals. “Make sure they don't see anything useful, just in case we have to let them go.”
“Understood, Brigadier,” Michael said.
Jasmine nodded. “Keep funnelling down our forces to the spaceport,” she added. “I want the tanks deployed to provide extra firepower, if necessary.”
She looked back at the display. Her forces were filtering their way back to the spaceport, while the local security forces were taking over their role on the streets. It looked as though everything had been wrapped up, but she knew it was an illusion. The insurgents had broken contact and escaped, almost without more than a handful of losses. It was impossible to escape the feeling that the war had barely begun.
“And ask for an appointment with the planetary leader and his senior officers for me,” Jasmine add
ed. “We have some issues to settle, face to face.”
***
“The insurgents have broken contact,” Adalbert reported. “But the situation is not under control.”
Daniel sighed. He felt so fucking ... helpless. His position as First Speaker had been badly undermined by the crisis, then undermined again by the insurgency. It was easy to imagine his enemies using the new disaster to unseat him completely; the only thing keeping them in check was the awareness that one of them would have to take over as First Speaker after successfully kicking him out of office. And ... he hadn't even been able to do anything, but cower in the bunker when the fighting began.
“In particular,” Adalbert continued, “our control over the districts surrounding the Zone has been shattered. Police stations have been destroyed – we’re looking at near-total casualty rates – and most of the military and civil government stations have been wrecked. Overall, we have no effective control.”
“I see,” Daniel said. The insurgents were throwing down a gauntlet, he knew, challenging the security forces directly. If he left them in power, even in the Zone alone, they’d undermine his authority just by existing. And yet, if he sent his forces to engage the enemy, they’d be fighting on territory the enemy had chosen. “Is there any good news?”
“The attack on the spaceport was repelled,” Adalbert said. “And we took prisoners.”
Daniel sighed, again. Prisoners, particularly insurgent prisoners, were a contentious subject in the Senate. Half of the Speakers wanted to take the gloves off completely, using torture to break the handful of prisoners they had, the other half feared the long-term effects of using harsh methods to extract information. Their enemies accused them of either being cowards, fearing that the insurgents would torture them if they took over, or of being secret enemy sympathisers.
“We can sort that out later,” he said.
“The CEF suggested the use of truth drugs,” Adalbert said. “They could handle the prisoners ...”
“And if something goes wrong, they take the blame,” Daniel said. He hated thinking in such terms, but he had no choice. If he lost his position, his successor would either take the gloves off or surrender completely. “See to it.”
“We’ve also managed to impose a curfew on the streets,” Adalbert added. “Anyone caught outside until the state of emergency is lifted can be arrested, making it harder for the insurgents to slip out of our grasp.”
Daniel made a face. It would work, militarily speaking, but it would upset the local population, most of whom were voters. If the war lasted long enough, his supporters would pay for it at the next election. And then whoever took his place ... the thought kept mocking him, every time he tried to relax. He was caught in the middle, unable to avoid being pelted with charges and counter-charges from all sides.
He stood. “I’m going back to my office,” he said, softly. He was not going to remain in the bunker any longer than strictly necessary. If it was safe outside, he could go to his office and think there. “Call the CEF; ask the senior officer to meet me as soon as possible. We need to discuss the future.”
“I would advise having a military representative there,” Adalbert said. His voice was quiet, but firm. “The Commonwealth will have its own ideas about how to conduct joint operations.”
“Better I talk to her first myself,” Daniel said. He knew what his friend meant, but he wanted to take the measure of the person he would have to deal with. “Can she land here safely?”
“We believe so,” Adalbert said. “But if there are more HVMs out there ...”
“Let them decide,” Daniel said. “We will accept their decision.”
Chapter Nineteen
On Janus, the social scientists saw the shortage of food and attempted to solve the problem by shipping in food from a nearby star system. On the face of it, their proposed solution was a logical one. However, it ran into unexpected snags that eventually made it worse than useless.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
“One minute to landing,” the pilot called back. “Do you want me to circle the city first?”
“No,” Jasmine said, rather dryly. She enjoyed flying, most of the time, but it was hair-raising when she knew the enemy might have HVMs targeted on her shuttle, ready to fire. Besides, she really should be back at the spaceport. It had only been an hour since the area had been declared quiet, if not safe. “Just take us down as quickly as possible.”
She peered out of the cockpit as the shuttle headed down towards the mansion’s landing pad. It was more modest, she decided, than any of the mansions the old Council had built on Avalon, a simple blocky building within a large garden. Now, the garden was torn and broken, military vehicles spaced around the edges to provide some protection. Outside the high wall, she could see armed troops patrolling the streets, looking for any signs of trouble.
The city itself was a curious mix of styles. It lacked the elegance of the buildings she’d seen on Lakshmibai, or the simplicity of Avalon’s newer buildings, but there was something about them that made her smile. A handful of churches could be seen only bare metres from the mansion; beyond them, there was a handful of large stone buildings, surrounded by more armed soldiers. Government offices, she guessed; it looked as though the centre of the city was heavily defended. Outside the offices, there seemed row upon row of endless redbrick houses. Few of them looked to be any different from the others.
She checked her weapons out of habit as the shuttle touched down, her four armed bodyguards jumping out ahead of her and sweeping the area for prospective threats. Buckley had insisted on her taking a section of Marines with her, just in case the insurgents decided to try to attack while she was on the ground. Jasmine thought he was being paranoid – and that they were likely to offend the local government – but she’d conceded the point. If she hadn't been high on the list of people the insurgents would like to assassinate, she would be by the time the CEF had finished deploying.
Outside, the air smelt faintly of burning ashes and the dead. Jasmine wondered, briefly, just how bad it had been in the city, then pushed the thought aside as a civilian flunky ran up to her. Her reminded her a little of the supply officers she’d seen on Earth, right down to the slightly nervous expression on his face when he saw her and her guards. Surely, she couldn't help thinking, he’d have had plenty of time to get used to armed soldiers surrounding the palace. But some people were never comfortable with weapons in their vicinity.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, with a half-bow. His voice had the local accent, but it was clear enough for her to understand. “The First Speaker is waiting for you in his office.”
“Thank you,” Jasmine said. “Please take me to him.”
Inside, the mansion was surprisingly demure, compared to the mansions on Avalon or Admiral Singh’s palace. Jasmine couldn't help noting the shortage of gilt or expensive artworks. The only real decorations were portraits of important figures in the planet’s past, ranging from its founders to later First Speakers. All of them, she couldn't help noticing, broadcast steely resolve with their eyes. Jasmine had never been particularly interested in artwork, but she would have bet good money that they’d all been painted by the same artist.
“That’s right,” her guide confirmed, when she asked. “The previous First Speaker thought it was important for us to remember the great heroes of the past, so he had the paintings produced and hung on the walls. I believe there was quite a competition for the post of official government artist.”
Jasmine listened with half an ear as he talked about the paintings, telling her a little of the history behind each one. Some of the stories were absurd enough to make her wonder if they’d been invented in hindsight, although there were stories about Avalon that certainly sounded absurd, if someone hadn't known they were real. Eighty-odd Marines landing on a war-torn planet and bringing peace within six months of hard fighting? Or the story behin
d Sword’s entry into the Commonwealth Navy? Who would believe that?
They paused outside a pair of heavy wooden doors. “The First Speaker has granted you permission to keep your weapons,” the guide said. “But your guards must stay outside.”
Jasmine nodded, wordlessly. She wasn't blind to the significance of the gesture. On Earth, no one was admitted into the presence of the Grand Senate without surrendering their weapons and passing through the security scanners. But then, if she couldn't kill the First Speaker with her bare hands she’d be kicked out of the Marine Corps. The only way to be truly safe would be to have the conversation through the communications network.
She stepped through the door, indicating silently to her escorts that they should stay outside, and smiled as she saw the First Speaker. He was shorter than his official portrait had suggested, although that might have been because he walked in a permanent stoop. His hair was shading rapidly to gray and his suit, despite clearly being the product of careful tailoring, seemed to hang loosely on him. This, Jasmine realised, was a man worn down by circumstances beyond his control. She couldn't help being reminded of Avalon’s former governor, who had retired the year after first contact with Admiral Singh.
“You may call me Daniel,” he said, as he held out a hand. “We shall not stand on ceremony here.”
“Jasmine,” Jasmine said. His hand felt dusty to the touch. She shook it gently, then sat down where he indicated. “Thank you for inviting me.”
The First Speaker laughed, humourlessly. “We try not to greet our guests with fireworks,” he said, rather sardonically. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jasmine nodded. Overall, seventy soldiers had died in the first engagement, most of them on the destroyed shuttles. Thankfully, some of the soldiers from the shuttle that had crashed almost intact had survived long enough to be rescued. Even so, it was a major disaster – and an obvious propaganda victory for the insurgents. The fact they’d extracted most of their forces despite the best efforts of both the locals and the CEF was only the icing on the cake.
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