[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite

by Christopher Nuttall

  He has to support us, Rybak thought, as the seconds ticked away. Without us, his empire will be torn to shreds.

  “The walls are down, north and east,” a voice snapped. “Mortar shells are hitting the walls, west and south!”

  “I have two platoons ready to go,” another voice called back. “They’re armed, but not armoured.”

  “Get them to the east wall,” Rybak ordered, sharply. The attackers might not know it, but by breaking through the east wall they were alarmingly close to his barracks. They had a chance to catch and slaughter some of his men before they were issued ammunition and deployed to fight back. “I want a line held there until we have armoured troops ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir,” the voice snapped.

  “General, I’m picking up a message,” a third officer said. “They’re offering to treat us fairly if we surrender.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Rybak said. He had no illusions. Success would force the Russian government to back him, but failure would see him left in the cold to die. He and his men would be executed, if they survived long enough to be taken prisoner. “And don’t bother to reply.”

  The ground shook as something detonated, alarmingly close to the building. “But sir ...”

  Rybak lifted his pistol. “Do as I fucking tell you or I’ll fucking shoot you right fucking now,” he shouted, angrily. He was damned if he was tolerating disobedience and backtalk, particularly when the future of his entire plan lay in the balance. Why couldn't his men do as they were told without the need for savage punishment? Their only hope was remaining united until the Vesy were united, then asking for support from Russia. “Do not send any reply!”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer said.

  “They’re coming up to the east wall,” another officer called. “Men in armour!”

  “Get the antitank weapons out there,” Rybak ordered. “And get those goddamned shuttles in the air!”

  He gritted his teeth as a thought struck him. The shuttles were invincible, by the standards of native technology. There wasn’t a damn thing they could do to the craft, which could rain death on their armies and cities from high overhead. In some ways, they were far more intimidating than KEWs, which were invisible until they fell out of the sky and struck their targets. But the attackers, whoever they were, might have antiaircraft weapons as well as everything else. And the shuttles would be easy prey for modern weapons.

  “General,” yet another officer said. “I have a mortar team ready to go!”

  “Then start some damned counterbattery fire,” Rybak ordered. The enemy mortar teams were good, he had to admit. They’d taken out the slave-soldiers before the natives even knew they were under attack. Not that Rybak had much regard for them, but they could have soaked up a few bullets before being brushed aside. “Now!”

  He swore, vilely, as sweat trickled down his back. Did he have to order everything personally? Did none of his men know how to think for themselves?

  “I have a message from the God-King,” the communications officer said. “He’s dispatching a sizable force now.”

  “At least someone knows how to think,” Rybak snapped.

  He allowed himself a tight smile. The Vesy hadn't known how to react quickly before the Russians had arrived. They’d simply lacked the communications technology to respond instantly to a potential problem. But they’d learned their lessons well. The God-King’s army would take shattering losses - it hadn't learned that much - but it hardly mattered. All that mattered was that their sheer numbers would tell against their enemies.

  We can always rebuild, he told himself. Another chain of explosions shook the compound, sending dust drifting down from high overhead. And hope to God that we manage to survive.

  ***

  Gillian had never found it easy to sleep on Vesy. It wasn't just the heat, or the awareness that many of the Russians considered her forbidden fruit, but some combination of the two that left her snapping awake at the slightest sound. She had often considered simply drugging herself, in hope of a good night’s sleep, yet she’d never dared. It would have left her horrifyingly vulnerable if the guards had decided to try their luck, that night.

  The sound of shooting snapped her awake. For a moment, she didn't know what she was hearing ... and then, when her mind grasped the truth, she threw herself out of bed and down to the floor. The noise was growing louder - she could hear the Russians outside, shouting in their own language - suggesting that this was no drill. Someone was actually attacking the complex!

  She crawled on hands and knees towards the door, then opened it and slipped into the medical ward. Her patients were awake, looking towards her; she could see fear in their eyes, even the two Russian patients. Gillian hesitated, then started to help the patients out of their beds and down to the ground. They’d be safer there, she told herself. But she was damned if she knew what else to do.

  “Those aren't our guns,” one of the Russians said. His voice was raspy, weak. “Not our weapons.”

  Gillian frowned. She had no illusions. The Vesy could not hope to mount an attack without help, not when the Russians could literally see in the dark, like cats. Any attackers would be torn to ribbons before they reached the walls. Had someone else stumbled across Vesy? A British ship, perhaps, or the Americans? She would even have welcomed a Russian or Chinese ship. They couldn't be worse than the rogues who had taught the Vesy the concept of religious genocide.

  But what would the General do, she asked herself, when faced with total defeat?

  She knew the General, knew him too well. He liked to think of himself as a pragmatist, but Gillian knew there was a darkness in his soul. The madness that had infected so many of the Russians had infected him too, driving him onwards in a desperate bid for ... not for redemption, she was sure. He wanted validation. If he saw his last hope of success being destroyed, he might blow up the entire compound as a final gesture of spite.

  But what could she do about it?

  “Stay down,” she said. She couldn't think of anything else to do. There were no weapons in the medical compound, nothing she could use to defend herself or her patients. A single hail of bullets would go through the walls like knives through butter. All she could do was wait ... and pray that the newcomers weren't bent on slaughter. “Just keep your heads down.”

  The ground shook violently, once again. She gritted her teeth as one of her patients started to whimper, then crawled over and gave the beaten woman a hug. It was the only thing she could do.

  God help us, she thought. No one else can.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “The enemy have started counterbattery fire,” the mortar team reported.

  “Then launch counterbattery fire of your own,” Hadfield ordered. There were two forces engaging the enemy - four, if one counted the two Vesy armies making their way towards the walls - and coordinating them both was pure hell. “Take them out before they take you out.”

  He cursed under his breath. The drones weren't able to pick out much detail - the situation was too fluid for that - but it was enough to tell him that the Russians were starting to solidify their lines. Worse, perhaps, the locals had dispatched a massive army up the road towards the compound. It would take at least three hours for it to get there, he figured, but when the army did the Marines would have another problem. It wasn't going to be easy to solve.

  I should be down there, he thought. It was a bitter thought. He should be leading his men in combat, not watching from a safe distance. But I need to coordinate.

  He’d proven his bravery time and time again. No one would think any less of him for doing his duty. But it still rankled.

  ***

  Percy swore under his breath as he reached the ruins of the wall, then peered inwards. The Russians had been taken by surprise, but they’d still managed to put together a makeshift defence. There were Russians shooting towards his men, forcing them to keep their heads down, while others were arming themselves with antitank weapons. They
would take out a light combat suit without difficulty, killing the Marine inside.

  There was no time for delay. He snapped out a series of orders, launching a set of grenades towards the Russian positions, then led the charge into the explosions. The Russians recoiled under the impact, then broke. Percy saw several of them fall to his men, then two more shot in the back as they tried to run. Only one tried to surrender and he was shot by one of his fellows, just before Percy killed him. The Russians, it seemed, were torn between giving up and fighting to the finish.

  He led the way into the first set of buildings, which turned out to be crammed with supplies looted from Vesper. The Marines verified that the buildings weren't occupied, then pressed onwards, taking out a pair of snipers on the rooftops as they moved. Percy saw a handful of Russians pop up, fire off a handful of shots and vanish again, ducking before the Marines could take them out. A rocket flashed past him - he ducked, a second too late - and struck one of the Marines, blowing a hole in his suit. Percy swore as a red icon flashed in front of his face, then killed the launcher before he could reload and fire again. One of his Marines was dead.

  “Incoming,” Peerce snapped, as a line of armoured Russians made their appearance, ducking and dodging as they closed in on the humans. “Use plasma weapons; take them out.”

  Percy nodded, then selected his inbuilt plasma weapon and opened fire. Two Russians died before the remainder leapt for cover, suddenly aware that the British had weapons that could burn through suits as if they were made of tissue. They wouldn't have faced handheld plasma weapons in the past, Percy was sure. The Russians hadn't stayed in New Russia long enough to witness the fall of the system, let alone the occupation. Nothing daunted, they shot back with rockets, forcing his men to keep their distance. The advance seemed to have stalled.

  “This is 2-lead,” Percy said, keying his radio. It took him a moment to designate targets with his laser pointer. “I need shells here, here and here.”

  There was a long pause, then a hail of mortar rounds landed on top of the enemy positions. The ground shook violently; the Russians might have been armoured, and protected from anything short of a direct hit, but Percy was sure as hell they’d felt the impact. He snapped out an order, then lunged forward, hunting for targets. Three more Russians died before the remainder fell backwards, shooting frantically to cover their retreat. One turned, boosted his suit, and ran out into the countryside. Percy noted his departure in passing, then turned his attention to the rest of the compound. There would be time to handle the stragglers later.

  Keep going, he told himself, as they broke into another complex. This one held children, all girls. They were crying and screaming, panicking helplessly. Percy had a sudden flashback to the first night he’d spent in the refugee camp, before he’d been press-ganged to help tackle the floods. The children had been crying then too, despite the best efforts of their parents.

  “Get on the ground,” he bellowed, but most of the girls were too far gone to hear him, let alone obey. “Get down and stay down!”

  He cursed under his breath, then called in the building. The mortar teams had to be warned to exclude it from future firing patterns. He looked back at the girls, then shuddered. God alone knew what the Russians had done to them. He wanted to think they hadn't been abused, but the Russians had dropped so many civilised customs in the past six months ... he still shuddered with horror when he recalled some of the scenes from the disaster zones in Britain. The girls would need years of therapy before they were recovered, therapy they probably wouldn't get. There weren't enough therapists in Britain to tackle all the trauma cases, he knew, and there were no therapists on Cromwell.

  A terrible oversight, he thought, morbidly.

  Gritting his teeth, he led his men back to the war.

  ***

  “The savages are attacking the south and west,” his aide snapped. “They're coming right through the fields.”

  “Order the guns to target them,” Rybak ordered. How the hell had the intruders, whoever they were, made contact with the locals right under his nose? Had the God-King decided to sell the Russians out, after all? “And bring down mortar fire on their heads.”

  “Aye, sir,” his aide said.

  Rybak cursed out loud. The compound was under attack from all four sides, making it hard to tell which one was the real attack. Human forces seemed to be spearheading the attacks on the north and east, which suggest they were the most serious threat, but the natives were a major problem. He’d calculated that the God-King’s forces could soak up bullets, if necessary, yet the equation also worked in reverse. His men didn't have unlimited ammunition, but they were being forced to spend it like water.

  He looked at the map, trying to understand what was happening. The east attack had stalled, for a moment, then resumed. Several buildings had already fallen, while others were under threat or completely defenceless. The medical centre was about to fall, he saw, unless a miracle happened. It was utterly unsuited to serve as a strong point.

  “Get those shuttles in the air,” he repeated. “Now, damn it!”

  ***

  “Corporal,” Peerce snapped. “They’re launching shuttles!”

  Percy swore as red icons flared up in front of him. The enemy would be able to rain fire on them from high overhead, if they were given a chance. There were three shuttles, one a modified heavy-lift vehicle; he could guess, easily, just what it was carrying. A weapons pod wouldn't be too difficult to fit, he was sure. The Royal Marines had done it often enough.

  “Take them out as soon as they come into engagement range,” he ordered. It was a risk - a shuttle might crash on top of the advancing Marines - but it had to be done. “Hurry!”

  Two of the Marines paused, then opened fire with plasma weapons as the shuttles made their first attack run. One exploded in midair, raining flaming debris onto the fighters below, while the other two, badly damaged, staggered away from the compound. Percy saw one of them, trailing fire, crash somewhere in the nearby forest; the other one made a forced landing just outside the complex. The Vesy would deal with her crew, he figured; the pilots had landed right in front of the advancing rebels. He just hoped they remembered to take prisoners.

  He paused outside a building, then kicked open the door.

  ***

  Gillian jumped as the door smashed inwards, then a hulking figure - clad in powered combat armour - pushed his way inside. She held herself very still as the figure peered at her, holding up her hands in surrender. For a long moment, everything seemed to freeze, then she caught sight of the flag on the figure’s shoulder.

  “You’re British,” she said.

  “Yeah,” the figure said. He raised his voice. “Lie down on the ground, face down, and put your hands behind your backs. Now.”

  Gillian hesitated, then obeyed reluctantly. The British troops checked the Russians first, then secured their hands and feet with plastic ties. Two of the patients objected, but most of them submitted without protest. Gillian wanted to fight as her hands were bound, yet she knew it was a wise precaution. Too many of the kidnapped women had fallen in love - or deluded themselves that they had fallen in love - with the Russians.

  “You have to listen to me,” she said, once the soldiers had secured the patients and searched the compound. “The Russians are going mad.”

  The soldier turned to face her. “We know,” he said. “But all we can do is press onwards.”

  Gillian looked at him, then started to tell him everything she knew.

  ***

  Percy listened, opening a channel so Hadfield and Peerce could hear her too. The woman - his records identified her as Doctor Gillian McDougal - was a good observer, better than some of the Royal Marines he’d known. She understood what the Russians were going through and had attempted to learn as much as she could about them. Her intelligence was useful ...

  ... But it didn't change the fact that they had to push the offensive as hard as they could.

  �
�Someone will be along to help you,” he promised, when Gillian finally stopped speaking. He wasn't sure it was a promise he could keep. There were no support troops, no reinforcements that could get the girls and their mothers out of the complex before the madman blew it up. All the Marines could do was press onwards and hope for the best. “Wait here until then.”

  Gillian gave him a sardonic look, but said nothing.

  Percy exchanged a few brief words with Peerce as the Royal Marines stepped outside, then led his men towards the prefabricated building at the heart of the complex. The remaining armoured Russians had set up a new defensive line, he realised, but they were ill-prepared to stop his men. Their barracks might have served as decent positions against the Vesy, he decided as the Marines called down mortar shells on their enemies, yet they weren't designed to stand up to modern weapons. Armoured suits were best deployed in mobile combat, not fixed defence.

  The building exploded into fire as three shells punched through the roof and detonated. Percy waited for a long second, then led the charge forward, pushing the remaining Russians out of the way. The next building was crammed full of women, all screaming in panic. Percy hesitated - some of the women were clearly threatening his men - and then threw a stun grenade into the building. It would keep the women out of trouble long enough for the Marines to either secure the compound or die trying.