The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores...

by Christopher Nuttall

  Yin surprised her by laughing. “They won’t know how to start fending for themselves,” he chortled. “They’ll starve to death without workers to keep them fed, watered and clothed.”

  His eyes became calculating. “And no one can blame us for their deaths, eh?”

  “No,” Jasmine agreed. She had the distant feeling that the planet’s future was going to be bloody. Even if Yin agreed to forbid reprisals, there would be millions of people who wanted to settle old scores or take land and property belonging to others. “But you might want to reintegrate them into your society.”

  Yin shook his head. “Let them have an island,” he said. “Let them starve – or learn to live on their own. We don't want them.”

  His gaze turned calculating. “So, we have agreed,” he continued. “What are you prepared to offer us?”

  Jasmine pulled her notepad off her belt and looked down at it. “The garrison is unlimbering thousands of tons worth of supplies now,” she said. “You can have weapons and ration bars first, followed by vehicles – if you can drive them.”

  She’d been astonished to take a look at the manifests the garrison’s skeleton crew had kept religiously; they'd shipped in enough supplies from the sector capital to fight a major war. The shipping contractor must have been on the take, she'd decided finally. It was the only explanation that made sense. Someone had probably done very well out of shipping vast quantities of supplies to Lakshmibai, although she wasn't complaining. Those supplies might make the difference between success and failure.

  “We don't have many drivers,” Yin admitted. “There will be some within the city, if we can capture them ...”

  “Offer them and their families food if they work for us,” Jasmine told him. In her experience, civilians worked better if they were paid for their labour, rather than forced to work at gunpoint. Besides, if they kept their families in a POW camp, they’d be able to use them as hostages. “We’re going to need quite a few drivers, if only to move supplies.”

  “Then I shall start bringing some of my men to this camp,” Yin remarked. “But what about the city of Jhansi?”

  “I’ll assign some of my people to assist you in securing it,” Jasmine said. Jhansi was a road nexus. Securing it would be the first step towards pressing the local transport network into operation. “But I meant what I said about taking prisoners.”

  “We do not have the facilities to take prisoners,” Yin objected. “Do you intend to take them to the garrison?”

  “We have wire and other supplies,” Jasmine pointed out, shaking her head. “We can rig up a POW camp if necessary.”

  Yin bowed as he stood up. “I look forward to working with you,” he said, as he headed for the tent’s flap. “And I hope that we will both get what we want.”

  Jasmine watched him go, then activated her internal communicator. “Have the supplies sent over the causeway as soon as the waters recede,” she ordered, knowing that the FOB’s communication nodes would pick up the signal and relay it to the garrison. “And I want to start work on a training and equipment camp for the rebels.”

  There was a pause, then Buckley answered. “Don't you trust them enough to bring them into the FOB?”

  “No,” Jasmine said, simply. Rebel forces, no matter how apparently committed to working with outsiders, always had their own agendas. And that wasn't the only problem. Even if Yin meant every word, it was quite likely that one of his people was actually a spy, working for the local government. In their place, Jasmine would have worked hard to infiltrate the rebellion, interdict their supply lines and locate their bases. “I want to keep our forces separate from them.”

  She looked down at her notepad, then moved to a new page. “And I want to work out a new operational plan as quickly as possible,” she added. She’d have to speak to Yin again, find out just what his forces could do. Despite herself, she wasn’t hopeful. “We have no time to lose.”

  ***

  “The defence of Jhansi seems to have collapsed,” Andrew reported, as the helicopter flew high over the burning city. “Most of the resistance is now concentrated on the central complex.”

  He gritted his teeth as he saw the bodies lying in the streets. The local government had been shocked by the sheer scale of the uprising launched against them, but that hadn't stopped them using the most brutal methods to stamp it out. They’d killed hundreds of civilians, fired buildings and even called in artillery strikes until the CEF had managed to suppress them. Andrew didn't even want to think about how many people had died ...

  “Acknowledged,” the garrison’s fire control officer said. “Can you provide laser targeting?”

  “That’s a roger,” Andrew said. He switched on the targeting system and angled the laser beam until it was pointed right at the central complex. The shelling from the enemy guns was largely inaccurate, but the heavy guns mounted on the garrison were an order of magnitude more sophisticated. “Laser locked on target.”

  “Firing now,” the officer said.

  Andrew tensed, despite himself. He knew that the odds were firmly against being hit by one of the shells the garrison had just fired, but accidents happened in wartime. Moments later, the shells fell past the helicopter and slammed into the central complex, sending colossal fireballs rising up towards the sky. The helicopter jerked as the gust of air struck it, then steadied as he fought with the controls. When he looked back down at the complex, it was clear that it had been devastated. Flames were rapidly devouring what parts of it hadn't been knocked down and destroyed by the direct hits.

  “Direct hits,” he reported, knowing that the live feed would show his superiors just what had happened to the central complex. “Resistance appears to have been badly hammered.”

  He watched as a swarm of locals raced for the complex, charging through the new gaps in the walls and throwing themselves into the remains of the building. One by one, the survivors were hauled out and brutally beaten to death; the rebels didn't seem any more inclined to spare the helpless than the local government. He watched helplessly as a family of young children was dragged out into the open and butchered by the rebels. Others fled into the chaos gripping the streets, looking for safety. Somehow, he knew that there was no safety to be found.

  “Good work,” the officer said, bluntly. “Fly to the next waypoint and scout for incoming enemy forces.”

  Andrew bit down the comment that came to mind, knowing that it would be futile. “Understood,” he said, instead. “We’re on our way.”

  ***

  Michael couldn't help feeling nervous as the Warrior nosed its way across the ring road and down into Jhansi. The city was a strange mixture of elegant and brutally functional, the buildings so close to the roads that it was terrifyingly easy to see how they might be ambushed and knocked out by one side or the other. Bodies lay everywhere, many gunned down or caught up in the chaos and killed by the mobs. Even the final terrifying moments of the Battle of Camelot hadn't been anything like as gruesome.

  “The resistance has been largely eliminated,” the dispatcher said, over the intercom. “You are to proceed to this location” – a light blinked up on the map – “and coordinate with the rebel forces.”

  Michael scowled as they saw their first locals, most of whom seemed to be engaged in looting. They stared back at the Warrior with open hostility, then turned their backs and ignored the AFV and its partners. It would be impossible to tell who was friendly and who wasn't, he realised. Just like the Crackers, the rebels didn't wear any uniforms.

  And if the warrior caste soldiers have any sense, he told himself, they’ll dump their uniforms and try to slip out of the city.

  The location, he discovered, proved to be a park that had once been next to a temple. It had been devastated in the fighting, with dozens of statues simply destroyed out of hand, while the temple itself was a smouldering ruin. Michael had no idea how many people on the planet believed in their religion, but it was clear that quite a few of them had grudges to
pay off. He'd done a little reading into the history of their religion and hadn’t been surprised to discover that when a new religion, one preaching equality under God, had arrived, it had been very seductive to the lower castes.

  He led his squad out of the Warrior as a line of pale-skinned men and women appeared at one edge of the park, being pushed forward by grim-faced rebels. Their clothes were ripped and torn – he suspected that jewels had been removed – but otherwise they seemed alive and unhurt. The children beside them were looking around in obvious confusion, some of them crying while others seemed unsure why their parents were being pushed around by lower caste members.

  “Prisoners,” a rebel explained, as the prisoners were forced to sit on the grass and wait. “You’re to take them out of the city.”

  Michael looked at the prisoners, and then at the rebels looking at the prisoners, then nodded hastily. It was clear that some of the rebels wanted to butcher the prisoners, just to exterminate as many members of the despised upper castes as possible. If the CEF didn't take care of them, he suspected, the local rebels certainly wouldn't. He felt a moment of nostalgia for the Cracker War. As bloody as it had become, it hadn't been anything like as savage.

  “I will, once a camp is set up,” he said, firmly. “Until then, they can remain here under guard.”

  He keyed his radio as he walked back to the Warrior, motioning for the machine guns to be pointed just over their heads. The prisoners would have to be insane to try something, but he knew from his training that prisoners might try to escape, if they were given half a chance. And yet if they did escape, they would almost certainly be captured and butchered by the rebels.

  “We have around two hundred civilian prisoners,” he reported. In the distance, he heard the sound of gunfire. It seemed to be coming from the heart of the city. “Do we have a POW camp yet?”

  “One is being set up now,” his superior assured him. “Can you hold them until then?”

  Michael looked over at the children and felt his heart break. “I think so,” he said. The thought was unavoidable. “This is going to be a messy war.”

  “Copy that,” his superior agreed. “I’m very much afraid that it is definitely going to be messy.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Diplomats who fail to keep the limits of the possible in mind tend to run into considerable problems, particularly when their bluffs are called. For example, if there is little enthusiasm for using military force to compel a country to do what the diplomats want, the diplomatic protests will be worse than useless.

  -Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Leo rubbed the side of his head, wondering why it was so dark. “Like I picked a fight with ... well, you,” he said, recognising the Colonel’s voice. “What happened?”

  “He’s fighting off the sedative,” a female voice said. Leo didn't recognise the speaker. “I can give him a booster ...”

  “No,” Leo said, before the Colonel could answer. His head felt like cotton wool. When he took a breath, he smelt ... he didn't want to know what he was smelling, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was himself. “What happened?”

  “You were attacked,” the Colonel said. “Your escort got you back to the Residency before you could be overrun.”

  Leo managed to open his eyes. He was lying on a hard stone floor, in a darkened room illuminated only by a pair of portable lanterns. The Colonel was kneeling next to him, with a dark-skinned woman in military uniform studying a medical terminal with an air of disapproval. He was naked, Leo realised, in some puzzlement. It took him several minutes to remember that they’d been forced to use a septic tank to break their fall.

  “Fiona,” he said, turning his head from side to side in hopes of seeing her. “Where is she?”

  “I saw fit to put her in a private room,” the medic said. “She’s still under sedation.”

  Leo tried to pull himself upright, but staggered as his head started to spin. “Lie still,” the Colonel advised. “You haven’t got all of the drug out of your system yet.”

  “Oh,” Leo said. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of gunfire. “What’s happening out there?”

  “The Residency is under siege,” the Colonel said, grimly. “They made four attempts to force their way in with troops, then they pulled back and concentrated on sniping at us from a distance. I think they’re preparing for yet another try at our walls.”

  Leo stared at him. “But why?”

  “Officially, they want to force us to surrender you and your escorts,” the Colonel said. “I think that’s just an excuse to start a fight. Their radio messages, such as they are, suggest that they’re planning to kill the lot of us. You might want to try to remember those shooting lessons I gave you.”

  “... Oh,” Leo said. The Colonel had taught him how to shoot, but he hadn't kept practicing, even when he'd been on Avalon. “Is it that bad?”

  “Not yet,” the Colonel said, standing up. “But it will be soon.”

  The medic pushed something against Leo’s arm before he could object and the world faded away again back into darkness.

  ***

  “I can see five of them,” Private Tomas Leloir reported. Darkness had fallen over the city, but they didn't dare take time to relax. “Don’t they know that we can see them?”

  “They may not know anything about NVGs,” the Lieutenant said, dryly. “Hold your fire; the CO wants to see what they’re doing.”

  Tomas nodded, tracking the lead enemy soldier with his rifle. They seemed to have learned a few lessons about concealment after the first four attempts to break the defences, although they also seemed to have decided that darkness was sufficient cover for their misdeeds. Through the NVGs, they were easily visible, standing out clearly against the cold surroundings. They seemed to be carrying rifles in their hands and little else.

  “They’re reaching the wall,” he whispered. They'd have some cover there, as long as they stayed low. A moment later, there was a chinking sound as a grabbling hook attached itself to the top of the wall. “Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

  “It looks as though they are trying to sneak into the complex,” the Lieutenant said, over the intercom. “Request permission to engage as soon as they surmount the wall.”

  “Engage them with stunners only,” the CO ordered. “I want them alive.”

  Tomas nodded and kept tracking the men with his rifle. If they had something clever up their sleeves ... but they didn’t; they were stunned as quickly and efficiently as the rioters had been, when they’d made their first charge at the walls. Moments later, they were frisked, secured with plastic ties and carried off to the main room.

  “Keep your eye on the streets,” the Lieutenant ordered. “They have friends out there.”

  ***

  Edward had to force himself to keep a straight face as he saw the newcomers in proper lighting. They were dressed like ninjas from a million bad entertainments, men and women who had mastered a mythical martial art that allowed them to be completely sneaky and go anywhere they wanted to go. But even Marine Pathfinders would have had trouble sneaking into the Residency without equipment that simply didn't exist on Lakshmibai.

  “All right,” he said, as they were secured to chairs. “Answer our questions and we'll let you go.”

  The ninjas babbled rapidly in the local language. None of them, it seemed, possessed a word of Imperial Standard, which made a certain kind of sense. The planet’s governors were determined to keep outside influences from contaminating their people – and besides, Lakshmibai had been isolated for centuries before it had been unwillingly dragged back into the greater galaxy. It was quite possible that knowledge of Imperial Standard had been heavily restricted by the elite.

  “The translation software can’t follow them,” Coleman advised. “Whatever language they’re speaking isn't the official tongue for this planet.”

  Edward wasn't t
oo surprised. Languages changed and evolved, even when there were datanets and entertainments using a shared tongue. A few centuries of isolation would probably have seen the planet’s language evolve in all kinds of unanticipated directions. But, right now, it was a major hassle.

  “Get one of the serving maids,” he ordered, after a moment. The maids all spoke Imperial Standard, although their accents were abominable. “Tell her that translation services will be richly rewarded.”

  It was five minutes before Coleman returned with a very frightened looking maid. Once the first burst of fighting had died down, the Marines had transferred them to a large room and cut them loose from their bonds, but they wouldn't have found it very reassuring. If the Residency was stormed, they would be raped and then murdered by the mobs. Some of the radio transmissions they’d picked up had preached the destruction of all off-worlders and their spawn. Anyone who might have had any dealings with off-worlders was at risk.

  I wonder, he asked himself, if that includes the Rajah?

  “I want you to translate my questions for him,” he said, as Coleman wrapped a lie detector band around her wrist. She eyed it in nervous incomprehension. “And then translate his answers for me.”

  She nodded, her dark eyes fearful. Edward couldn't help admiring her looks, although there was something oddly immature about her body, as if she were permanently trapped on the verge of adulthood. Some of the files had suggested that Lakshmibai’s founders had used illegal genetic modification to help shape their insect colony of a society, but if some of the more extreme suggestions had been true, they would have wiped themselves out long ago. If the untouchables had been bred to be just a little less intelligent and capable than the rest of the castes, the poisoned genes would have spread to the others by now.

  “Good,” Edward said. He couldn't help noticing how she shied away from him and winced inwardly. “Ask him just what they thought they were doing.”