He peered down at a tiny village as the helicopter skimmed over it, wincing inwardly at the complete absence of any modern technology. Even the worst parts of Avalon used combine harvesters and tractors to help the farmers reap a crop from the land. Here, the farmers had no choice, but to use their bare hands and whatever handheld tools they could obtain. He wouldn't be too surprised to see the locals using slave labour to break the ground, sow the seeds and then reap the harvest. And then most of their produce would be taken away by their superiors, leaving the farmers with barely enough to keep themselves and their slaves alive.
If that, he thought, remembering some of the other scenes from orbital observation. Vast tracts of farmland had been destroyed during the fighting, or abandoned so long that it had simply reverted to wilderness. It was quite possible that the local population was starving to death, even to the point where they could no longer provide even a minimum level of labour.
The threat receiver whistled in his ear and he cursed, automatically pulling back on the stick and yanking the helicopter into an evasive manoeuvre that should have allowed them to break the lock. Below them, he saw a flash of light as a missile was launched; not an HVM, he noted with some relief, but a more primitive MANPAD. Briggs automatically launched a air-to-surface missile back at the launcher, although Andrew suspected that it would be pointless, even if they did kill the man who’d fired the missile. The handheld launchers were designed to be used once and then thrown away.
“Deploying flares,” he said, as the missile raced towards the helicopter. A moment later, it slipped to one side and struck a flare, destroying both of them in a thunderous explosion. The helicopter rocked as the shockwave struck home, but remained undamaged. “I think we found the enemy.”
“Confirmed,” Briggs reported. He was peering down at the sensors. “I’m picking up at least a dozen armoured vehicles and a few hundred infantry. They’re dug in to block advance up the road.”
“Pass the report back to the CO,” Andrew ordered, as he took the helicopter upwards. Having realised that they’d been detected, the locals were opening fire with rifles and machine guns. It was unlikely that they would manage to bring the helicopter down, but it was quite possible that they would get lucky. “Tell them that we have located the enemy.”
***
“Contact,” Buckley reported, quietly. “It’s a trap.”
Jasmine felt a hint of relief. At least they knew where the enemy were, even if they were in the worst possible place. If she had to take her force cross-country, it would slow them down considerably. Instead, she would have to punch through and hope that the enemy hadn't had time to deploy mines, IEDs and other unpleasant surprises.
“Order the tanks to move forward,” she ordered smoothly. If nothing else, there was very little on the surface of this blighted world that could slow down a Landshark. The orbital sensors hadn't revealed any plasma weapons. It was a curious oversight, but perhaps the traders who’d shipped in weapons had decided to honour the Empire’s ban on exporting plasma weapons. And the locals might not have known to ask for them.
She looked over at the reporter, who looked back at her. He looked nervous, but not as terrified as she had expected. But then, he did have some combat experience of his own.
“They’re trying to stop us from reaching the capital city,” she said, calmly. Perhaps an explanation would help calm his nerves. “But they won’t succeed.”
***
“The off-worlders are coming,” the sergeants shouted, as Mahabala and his comrades slipped into the trench they’d dug to provide some cover. “Get ready to repel them!”
He braced himself as the nearest sergeant glared at him. The price for being part of the warrior caste was absolute discipline; failure, a failure, meant a beating at the very least. It had been a hellish deployment even before they’d been told that they might have to fight off-worlders; the local peasants had kept their gazes lowered, but it was clear that they hated the warriors almost as much as they hated the rebels in the hills. At least he hadn't had to go hunting in the hills too; the stories he’d heard had made it clear that the rebels ruled the hillside. Every warrior who had fallen into their hands had died a very painful death.
His palms suddenly felt sweaty as he saw the off-world vehicle coming into view. It was massive, larger than most of the farmhouses they’d turned into makeshift barracks by evicting most of the farmers and taking their beds for themselves. Suddenly, the trench they’d spent hours digging felt as flimsy as a sheet of paper. Nothing he’d seen the better-connected warriors driving was larger than the off-world tank. It's colossal main gun alone was bigger than any of the artillery pieces that were being set up behind the lines.
“Hold your ground,” the sergeant barked. Several of the warriors were showing signs of wanting to run, although the gods alone knew where they would have run. The rebels would have killed them if they’d been caught and the penalty for desertion was death. “Fire on my command.”
There were two more tanks now, Mahabala realised; advancing towards the trench as if they didn't know that it was there – or didn't care. He tried to tell himself that it was the latter, just as one of the missile launchers panicked and fired his missile towards the lead tank. The sergeants swore out loud and barked a command, ordering the rest of the unit to open fire on the enemy vehicles. Mahabala pointed his weapon at the tank and opened fire, only to see the missiles slamming into its hull and detonating without causing any damage at all. It was hard to imagine that his rifle would do any better. Indeed, he couldn't even see sparks as the bullets bounced off the hull.
And then there was a terrifying noise as the tank opened fire with machine guns of its own. Mahabala dived into the trench, hugging the mud and praying desperately as thousands of bullets slammed into the ground, tearing apart his comrades if they didn't get out of the firing line in time. He saw one of the sergeants simply disintegrate as he was caught in the stream, almost wiped from existence by the off-world weapons. And then a dark shadow fell over the trench.
He had a moment to realise that the tank was driving right over the trench, it was driving right over him! There was a moment of absolute terror ... and then the walls collapsed in on him. And then there was nothing, but darkness.
***
“The tanks have broken through the trench lines,” Major Daniels reported, over the intercom. The CO of the 2nd Avalon Armoured Regiment seemed pleased with himself. “They’re engaging the enemy tanks now.”
Jasmine nodded, although she couldn't banish a vague sense of unease. It was understandable that the enemy would underestimate the sheer power of an off-world force, but surely they would have known better than to set up trenches and assume that they would be enough to stop her. Indeed, the trenches had done little more than slow the tanks down for a few seconds. If that was all the resistance they were likely to face, breaking through to the capital would be easy.
But it won’t be, she thought, bleakly. There are places where geography will make it easier for them to slow us down.
She looked up at the live feed from the drones in contemplation. The local tanks were several generations behind the Landshark, unsurprisingly. No doubt the interstellar traders had taken advantage of the chance to unload junk on an unsuspecting planet. But she had to admit that the enemy tankers were showing no shortage of bravery. It was their tactical acumen that was in question. Their vehicles were so thin-skinned that her tankers didn't even need their main guns to deal with them, yet they were still charging forward, firing desperately. And other vehicles were following in their wake. Her tanks simply had too many targets to choose from ...
Understanding clicked, too late.
“Those vehicles are bombs,” she snapped. Her tankers had been so focused on the enemy tanks that they’d largely ignored the other vehicles. “Get the tanks back ...”
It was too late.
***
“Jesus!”
Andrew stared as he saw a
Landshark tank picked up and flung over by the sheer force of the blast. The tank was heavily armoured and it was quite possible that the crew had survived, but it was unlikely that it could be recovered in time. His threat receiver started screaming again as the enemy opened fire with artillery, shelling the off-worlders before they could back off out of the trap. Moments later, a second explosion sent another tank skidding to a halt.
“Two Landshark tanks appear to have been taken out,” he reported, numbly. It was rare to lose a Landshark – and humiliating to lose two to such pitiful opposition. “Request permission to engage the enemy guns.”
“Granted,” a crisp voice returned. “You are cleared to engage.”
***
Jasmine swallowed the rage that threatened to overwhelm her. She’d made a mistake and allowed her overconfidence to blind her to the threat, but there was no time for recriminations. Instead, she would have to extract her forces from this trap, a task made harder by the sudden appearance of enemy guns in the distance. They’d pound her to scrap if she let them. Maybe the Landshark tanks could survive a direct hit from a shell, but little else could.
“Order the remaining tanks to fall back,” she ordered, shortly. “All enemy vehicles are to be engaged and destroyed at a distance.”
“Understood,” Major Daniels said. He didn't sound shaken, for which Jasmine was grateful. Quite a few officers in the Imperial Army had gone to pieces when they discovered that primitive didn't mean stupid. “We have survivors in the damaged tanks.”
Destroyed, Jasmine thought. It was quite possible that the vehicles could be repaired, but recovering them would be far too dangerous. They’d just have to hope that the enemy didn't take the time to complete the task of rendering them irreparable before it was too late.
“Order the 1st Avalon Mechanized Infantry Battalion to move up and recover the survivors,” she ordered, regretfully. “And then order the 1st Avalon Artillery Battalion to prepare to move out of the FOB.”
The ground shuddered as more enemy shells crashed down on the off-worlders. She ran through it in her head, cursing her own mistakes. If she’d had the artillery moving with them ... but it might not have made a difference. The enemy clearly had far more guns dug into the countryside, ready to duel with her own guns as well as hammer her advancing forces.
“Picking up a report from the garrison,” Buckley said, chuckling with black humour. “The city’s gone crazy and there are infantry units moving towards the FOB.”
“Order the garrison to engage the advancing enemy forces with shellfire,” Jasmine ordered. It was galling, but she had to admit that the ambush had been carefully planned. The enemy had struck as soon as the CEF was away from the garrison’s long-range guns. “There’s nothing we can do for the city now.”
***
The ground seemed to be glowing with fire from where the enemy guns were based, firing madly towards the trapped off-worlders. Andrew gritted his teeth as the threat receiver went off again and again, warning him of hidden enemy MANPADs, then ignored it as he activated the helicopter’s ground-attack weapons.
“Weapons online,” Briggs reported. “Sir?”
“Open fire,” Andrew ordered.
The helicopter shuddered as it unleashed a spread of rockets and shells, firing down towards the enemy guns. Moments later, the level of enemy fire died away as explosions ran through their position, culminating in a final explosion that went up like a baby nuke. They must have hit an ammunition stockpile, Andrew told himself, as the shockwave buffeted the helicopter. Normally, ammunition would be kept away from the guns to prevent a lucky hit triggering a series of explosions, but the enemy had to keep the ammunition nearby if they wanted to maintain their level of fire.
“We used most of our ammunition,” Briggs informed him.
“I’ll take us back to the barn,” Andrew said. They’d have to fly all the way back to the garrison, reload and then fly back. He hoped that the ground-pounders could remain alive until then – or pull back from the hell they’d stumbled into. “Tell command that we’re moving.”
They hadn't wiped out all the guns either, he realised, as they flew back towards the coastline. The enemy had other guns, all firing on the oncoming off-worlders. There were so many shells flying through the air that it was quite possible that one of them would strike the helicopter, if they weren’t careful. And there were explosions billowing up from where they were landing, hammering the CEF ...
It looked very much like hell.
Chapter Fifteen
Looking at the second requirement, failing to honour one treaty (no matter how minor) can convince outside powers that one will not honour other treaties. A reputation for bargaining in ill faith can blight a country’s relationships with the rest of the world for decades afterwards, even if the government responsible is removed and replaced with a new government.
-Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.
“Keep your damned heads down,” Sergeant Grieves bellowed, somehow making himself heard over the sound of incoming shells and explosions. “Keep your heads down and you might live to see the dawn!”
Michael ran forward, keeping low as he led the way towards the wrecked Landshark. It was weird to see the tank flipped over, as if all it really needed was a push to right itself and start operating again. But the hull was clearly damaged, he realised as they approached, and the treads were broken. It would be able to move on its wheels, if he recalled correctly, but it wouldn't be able to make full speed.
A bullet pinged past his head and he swore out loud, then turned and fired back towards the advancing enemy soldiers. They were crawling towards the tank themselves, intending to claim the wreckage and capture the crews inside the vehicles. Michael found cover behind the tank as his comrades added their own fire to the maelstrom, driving the enemy soldiers back. He couldn't fault their determination, he told himself, or their willingness to close with the enemy.
Another series of thundering explosions ran through the ground as the enemy dropped more shells to the west, trying to take out more of the CEF’s vehicles. Michael ignored it as best as he could, concentrating on activating his mouthpiece and trying to link into the tank’s communications network. Convincing the tankers to come out of their vehicle was tricky; unsurprisingly, they felt that they were safer inside the tank, even if it was damaged. They might have been right, he knew, if the CEF was still advancing, but it was alarmingly clear that they would have to fall back and regroup. The tankers couldn't be left behind.
There was a dull click as the hatch opened, allowing the first tanker to slip out of the hull and drop into the mud. Michael couldn't help rolling his eyes at how clean the tanker’s uniform was, or at the man’s expression of disgust as he breathed in the stench of the battlefield. But then, he supposed that warfare would look cleaner if he had umpteen thousand tons of main battle tank wrapped around him too. He was followed by five more tankers, including two women. Michael silently promised himself that they wouldn't be allowed to fall into enemy hands. If the local warriors believed that they could do whatever they liked to local women, particularly those of lower castes, what would they do to captured off-worlders?
“Keep your damned heads down,” he snarled at them, as the enemy fire intensified. He gave the leader a shove that sent him flying headfirst into the mud. “Stay down and crawl west.”
The other tank crew didn't waste so much time climbing out, much to his relief. But then, their vehicle had been hit so hard that the hull had been cracked. They didn’t have the time to delude themselves into believing that they were still safe. Michael detailed off half his force to escort the tankers back to friendly lines, then looked to the east. A line of enemy infantry were advancing towards them.
“Take aim,” he ordered. If the enemy were obsessed with capturing the remains of the tanks, it might give the rest of the CEF time to withdraw in good order. Losing the wrecked tanks would be annoying, but losing the CEF would be
worse. “Fire!”
Five of the enemy soldiers dropped as his men opened fire. The remainder hit the dirt and started to crawl forward, covered by their fellows. Michael motioned for the sergeant to unhook a grenade from his belt, then throw it towards the oncoming enemy; as soon as the grenade detonated, he led the way back towards better cover. If they were lucky, it would take the enemy several moments to realise that they'd changed position.
The sound of the guns grew louder for a long moment, then dimmed slightly; the dull thrumming running through the ground faded away. Michael hesitated, wondering what was going on, then pushed it out of his mind. It wasn't his job to worry about the overall battlefield, merely his small corner of it. The big picture was in the hands of his superior officers.
***
“I think they’re running out of ammunition for their big guns,” Buckley reported. “Their level of fire is dimming slightly.”
“Let’s hope so,” Jasmine said. Civilians never quite understood just how rapidly a military unit could burn through ammunition – and nor could soldiers who had never fought a real battle in their lives. It was quite possible that the warrior caste hadn't appreciated just how much ammunition they’d use while trying to smash her forces. “Move the tanks to cover our escape, then pull back the point forces.”
Buckley blinked in surprise. “We’re retreating?”
Jasmine nodded, bitterly. There was no way to avoid the fact that the CEF had taken a bloody nose – and that it would only get harder as they pushed onwards towards the capital. They needed time to regroup and plan – and what? Make common cause with the rebels? Maybe they could do that now. Hell, there was no other option, apart from abandoning the Colonel, the Professor and their escorts to whatever fate the locals had in store for them. And she would sooner die than let that happen.
The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores... Page 14