Alpha gave her a wink, then tapped a key on the computer. The screen lit up, revealing an image from another orbiting satellite. It looked as though she was staring down at the Zone from a great height ... no, somewhere outside the Zone. The green park near the houses, complete with duck pond, was a dead giveaway. No one had wasted money on beautifying the Zone, not when everyone who lived there had been expected to move out as soon as they found a job.
“This is the address you gave us,” Alpha said. On the screen, Gudrun saw red letters marking the street names and house numbers. There were no such luxuries in the Zone, of course. “Will you confirm that it is the correct location?”
Gudrun leaned closer, cursing the cuffs as they dug into her hands. She’d never flown in her life, let alone been in space. It took her several moments to be sure it was the right location. Officially, the house belonged to a piano-teacher who had tried to make a living through giving lessons, allowing him to have an excuse for meeting with people like Gudrun. But inside it had been a rebel base through and through.
“Yes,” she said, positively. “I’m confident it’s his base.”
Alpha turned to look at her. “What’s the interior like?”
Gudrun shrugged. “A set of rooms, mostly barren; a toilet, a kitchen ... not much there, really,” she said. “I never saw the basement, though. There could be anything there.”
“Yes, there could,” Alpha said. A window popped up on her display and she smiled, hastily pressing her finger to the screen. “Let’s see what we have here.”
The image altered rapidly, zeroing in on the front door. A man had appeared, walking out of the house and onto the streets as if he didn't have a care in the world. Gudrun watched in a mixture of horror and awe as the image closed in on his face, revealing a light-skinned man with a brown head of hair and a moustache.
Marcy poked her the back of Gudrun’s neck. “Do you recognise him?”
Gudrun swallowed. “Yes,” she confessed. “That’s my contract.”
Alpha gave her a reassuring look. “I’ll detail the drone to follow him,” she said. On the screen, a line of letters and numbers appeared beside the walking man. Gudrun had no idea what they signified. “Luckily, we can keep the entire city under observation with only a handful of drones.”
“No replacement for a physical eye,” Marcy grumbled. Gudrun had the feeling that it was an old argument between the two of them. “Drones just don’t have the intuition of a human being.”
Gudrun looked from one to the other, then back at the screen. Her contact had walked into an alleyway and started to pull off his hair. She gaped in surprise, then realised that it had been a wig all the time she’d known him ... and she’d never guessed the truth. The moustache vanished a moment later, dropped into a hiding place in the alleyway. Without the hair, he looked completely different.
“I thought the moustache was a fake,” Alpha said, happily. “When someone has one that big, chances are it’s meant to draw attention. Given the right kind of support, no one ever bothers to question it.”
She looked at Gudrun. “Did you ever question the moustache?”
Gudrun shook her head, embarrassed. “They were fashionable ten years ago,” she said, remembering how her father had kept his handlebar moustache for years, despite her mother’s endless nagging and unsubtle hints about shaving it off. “I never thought it might not be real.”
“I guess you weren't taught to ask questions,” Marcy said, darkly. She peered past Gudrun towards the computer. “Where’s he going now?”
“Into the Zone,” Gudrun said. “The border is there, roughly.”
There was no formal border to the Zone, she knew. Originally, it had been intended as nothing more than a supersize transit barracks, back when anyone who wanted to catch hold of the Thule economic miracle only had to get on a starship to reach the developing world, then look around for a few days to find a job. Now, it had sprawled out of control as the government retreated, creating a morass of buildings inhabited by people with no reason to love the government. Growing up there, she thought, would be a nightmare.
Inside, there were small gangs of young men roaming the streets, carrying weapons and walking in a disciplined manner. The drone focused on a couple of them, allowing Marcy to note that they were wearing makeshift uniforms, then locked back on the original target. He walked a mile into the Zone, utterly unmolested, then entered a large warehouse through a side door.
“Lost him,” Alpha said. She didn't sound too unhappy. “But at least we have a building to probe.”
“So it would seem,” Marcy agreed. “And you want to bet that they’ve taken precautions against microscopic spies?”
“No bet,” Alpha said. The screen changed rapidly as the drone probed the outer edge of the warehouse. “I’m picking up hints of a commercial-grade electronic scrambler. It can probably be penetrated, given time, but I’d be surprised if it was the only precaution.”
She smirked at Gudrun. “Would you like to lay a bet?”
Gudrun stared at her. She’d lost track, somehow, of the fact she’d swapped sides, to the point where she’d seen the drone’s images almost as a game. But ... but she’d betrayed her allies and would be betraying them again in future and ...
Her head spun, suddenly. If it hadn't been for Marcy’s hand on her shoulder, she would have fallen off the stool and landed on the cold floor. What was wrong with her?
“I think you need a nap,” Marcy said. She helped Gudrun to her feet, then guided her towards the door. “Say goodbye to Alpha.”
“Goodbye, Alpha,” Gudrun said, obediently. Her head was still spinning, as if she’d drunk enough to fall into a daze. “What are we going to do now?”
“Some food and drink,” Marcy said. “And then we will see.”
***
“This is not a particularly decent town,” someone muttered.
Thomas tossed a glare back towards the rear of the patrol, although he couldn't really disagree. Whoever had designed the houses surrounding the spaceport had clearly been an unimaginative artist, one more interested in efficiency than actually building a community where the population had room to breathe. The houses were made from redbrick, which was marginally attractive, but they were practically identical. Very few of them even had differently-coloured doors!
It wasn't the only sign of trouble, he saw. Great piles of litter lay everywhere, as if there was no garbage collection crew within the district. Wild dogs, cats and rats darted in and out of sight, roaming through the garbage as if they expected to find food. He paused as he caught sight of a dog pulling something out of a pile of rubbish, then felt sick as he realised it had found a human body. The patrol stared in horror as the body was dragged out onto the street, then savaged by the dogs. There was nothing they could do.
“These people don't know how to take care of themselves,” Private Higgs said.
“It's worse than that,” Thomas said. Being a Marine, he’d seen so much more than his young subordinates. “These people are so helpless, so powerless, that they don’t even care about their surroundings.”
He’d seen it before, on Han and a dozen other worlds. The population were completely unable to control their lives. Either the government preyed on them or criminal gangs, flourishing in the power vacuum, took control of the area. The population sank into despair and lethargy. If any of them showed any willingness to act at all, they were generally absorbed into the criminal gangs or killed.
And such an environment was an excellent breeding ground for an insurgency.
“Stay alert,” he added. It was easy for such people to turn against outsiders. They found it safer than turning against the ones truly responsible for their suffering. “We can fix this problem, given time.”
Sure, a voice at the back of his head said. Just like you solved the problems on Han?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Unsurprisingly, this destroyed relationships between the outsiders and the local
factions. The Imperial Army’s soldiers rapidly became convinced that the locals were unrepentant thugs, parasites and generally untrustworthy, while the locals became convinced that the outsiders were either covertly on the opposing side or manipulating events to ensure as many locals as possible died. They were unable to comprehend the simple incompetence of those issuing orders from thousands of light years away.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
“This reminds me far too much of Han,” Jasmine said.
Mandy’s image frowned. “You said it was bad,” she commented. “Is this going to be worse?”
“I honestly don't know,” Jasmine said. She shook her head. She'd hoped to help the local government win enough breathing space to cut the insurgency’s ground out from under it, but she was starting to have the very definite feeling that it wouldn't be easy. “The hatred might be too deeply ingrained for anything other than a sustained bloodletting to cure.”
Mandy looked shocked. “It's unlike you just to ... give up,” she said. “You never gave up on me.”
Jasmine smiled, humourlessly. “I don’t think the same solution would work,” she said. “And you had less baggage than the people on this blighted world.”
She sighed. Two days of consultations with the local government and military officials had left her convinced that Thule was in deep trouble. Their system had been designed for endless growth, as if they’d assumed the good times would always be there. When disaster had struck, the system had proved unable to handle it without causing major hardship and unrest. And none of the haves wanted to concede anything to the have-nots. Why was she not surprised?
Earth, she thought. Many of Earth’s problems, rightly or wrongly, had been blamed on the countless billions of useless inhabitants who collected their support payments from the government while churning out the next generation of burdens on society. Once, they'd even voted for politicians who’d promised them even more benefits, before the farce that elections had become was eventually brought to an end. After all, who could trust the people to make the right decisions for themselves? Only the most insightful, caring and considerate politicians could hope to serve the population properly.
But Thule, in many ways, was a reverse of the problems facing Earth.
Mandy cleared her throat. “I believe that we’re currently surplus to requirements,” she said. “Unless you have a strong objection, I would like to begin my reconnaissance of Wolfbane’s border systems today.”
Jasmine hesitated. She did have an objection. The situation was far more complex than she’d been led to believe and she would have preferred to have as much fire support as possible under her direct command. And someone she could vent to without either compromising her position or alienating the local government. But she knew that her selfish objections couldn't be placed ahead of the urgent need to gather intelligence on Wolfbane.
“You may depart when you’re ready,” she said, formally. “What do you intend to do with the remainder of the squadron?”
“Battle drills,” Mandy said, promptly. “We do have a fairly sizable local defence force here to test ourselves against.”
Jasmine had to smile. “Trust you to find the silver lining in this dark cloud,” she said.
Mandy smiled back, looking – just for a moment – like the teenager she’d been when they’d first met. “It has to be done,” she said. Her face darkened for a long moment. “Take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Jasmine said. “I won’t be going anywhere near the front lines.”
Mandy didn't look convinced. She might not have been a soldier, but she knew enough to know that the front lines in an insurgency could be anywhere. Thule’s rebels had already proved that, much to their President’s alarm and irritation. Given time, they might find a way to get into the spaceport and mount an attack on Jasmine and her immediate subordinates. It would certainly be high on their agenda for the war.
“Good luck,” she said, instead. “Bye.”
Jasmine smiled as the younger girl’s image vanished from the display, then frowned as her wristcom bleeped. The officials from the local military had arrived at the spaceport and were just passing through security now. It said a great deal about their paranoia – and their lack of faith in their own people – that they’d insisted on holding the meeting at the spaceport. They’d spun it as a courtesy to Jasmine and the CEF, but she knew better. It wasn't as if she would have refused to go to the First Speaker’s Mansion.
Standing, she walked through the door and down towards the makeshift conference room. It had once been used as an office, according to the handful of spaceport workers who had remained in place since the economic crisis had begun, yet the chairs and tables the office workers had used had been stripped out long ago. Jasmine had no idea what the thieves had planned to do with them – use them for firewood, perhaps – but she’d had a handful of folding tables set up to give the impression of a functional headquarters, rather than one more interested in fancy decorations than results. The only concession to luxury she’d made was a steaming coffeemaker in the corner and a handful of plastic mugs. She’d yet to see a military installation that could function without coffee.
“Brigadier,” General Erwin Adalbert said. Unlike some local planetary defence force officers, he had an air of competence that Jasmine instinctively respected, even though she had the feeling that he was in over his head. “Thank you for hosting this meeting.”
He introduced his subordinates as they saluted her, one by one. A couple looked doubtful, wondering if she was really too young for the rank; the others accepted her, without any apparent objections. Jasmine wondered idly if they had read her file – at least the parts the Commonwealth had chosen to make public – or if they didn't have enough experience themselves to worry about her level of experience. The latter was a strong possibility, given the major expansion the local forces had had to undergo. Like Avalon, they had been forced to put inexperienced officers in positions of power. All of them, she couldn't help noticing, were men.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, wryly. “We do have a war to plan.”
They shared a look of mutual understanding. Jasmine had hardly been on the planet a day before she’d started ducking invitations to social events all over the city, hosted by the upper classes. It was absurd. Didn't the rulers of Thule know there was a war on? Or were they so blinded by their contempt for their opponents that they didn't take them seriously, even after attacks had been mounted in Asgard itself? Diplomatically, Jasmine knew, she should have gone to at least one of the events. But she had too much to do on the ground.
She tapped a switch and a map appeared on the table, projected from the projector she’d fixed to the ceiling. “The Zone,” she said. “I understand you wish to mount an operation against the enemy positions in this location.”
“There seems to be no alternative,” Adalbert said. “But they will know it too.”
Jasmine didn't doubt it. The Zone threatened to be a nightmare, an endless series of buildings that could be turned into defensible positions, then held long enough to bleed her forces before the insurgents fell back and left her to advance to the next building. She’d had her intelligence officers looking for information on the Zone, but the prisoners they’d interrogated had confirmed that the Zone no longer corresponded to the maps and building plans. Countless buildings, they'd said, had been extensively modified to suit their inhabitants. Some had been turned into several homes, others had been divided up into tiny housing compartments. It would be a completely unpredictable environment.
“We could seal the Zone off completely,” she said. She used the pointer to draw lines on the map. “Knock down a line of buildings surrounding the zone, then set up barricades. Anyone who wants to come out will have to cross the barricades ...”
“But that would leave the rebels in possession of the territory,” Adalbert said. “
They’ve already declared themselves an opposing government.”
Jasmine sighed. She’d heard about political considerations that forced military officers to act against their own best interests, but she’d never seen it happen personally ... unless one counted Lakshmibai. Here, the ideal solution was to starve the insurgents out – and it was doable. There were no farms in the Zone, no sources of food ... they would have stockpiles, of course, but those stockpiles would rapidly run out.
She remembered the courses on urban combat she’d taken at the Slaughterhouse. “The combat environment is slippery and treacherous,” her instructor had said. “Some insurgents will attempt to hold the food for themselves, leaving the civilians to starve. But this tends to alienate the civilians, who will forget ideology if they see their wives and children starving to death. Indeed, some insurgencies have expelled civilians to prevent them from becoming a drain on their resources.”
Gritting her teeth, she looked up at Adalbert. “How many civilians are trapped in the Zone?”
Adalbert met her gaze. “Roughly nine million,” he said. “But we don’t know for sure.”
Jasmine shook her head. She’d seen bigger cities – and each of the cityblocks on Earth had had a population in the millions – but nine million people crammed into the Zone seemed excessive. How were they feeding themselves? The logistics of feeding the CEF alone were a major headache and there were only ten thousand soldiers in the entire force. It was possible, she knew, that the figures were an exaggeration, but the Zone was certainly crowded.
“We need to try to urge the civilians out of the firing line,” she said. She tapped the map. “I want to set up Displaced Person camps for them.”
“Traitors,” one of the officers snapped. “Why should we take care of them?”
“Because it would reduce the number of civilian casualties,” Jasmine said, with a tone of patience she didn't feel. “It will also pressure the insurgents to release the women and children, at the very least, because otherwise their local support might crack.”
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