But Earth is gone, he thought, remembering what he’d been told. If the Wolfbane representatives had been telling the truth, Earth had been knocked flat and the entire population was dead. Leo had known that was going to happen – he’d even worked out the final steps of the Empire’s fall – but it was still terrifying to realise that it had finally come to pass. The Empire had seemed so strong, so invulnerable ...
“It will get worse,” Zoe said, without apparent emotion. “Our small stockpile of regular medical supplies is running out fast. Right now, we have to change the makeshift bandages carefully, clean the wounds and wash the cloths with boiling water. Even with broad-spectrum antibiotics, the risk of infection is far too high.”
She scowled. “There's enough bloody supplies at the garrison to provide medical care to everyone in the whole damned city,” she added. “But they might as well be on the other side of the Empire.”
The ground shook, once again.
“I ... I’ll try,” Fiona said. Edward had never been prouder of her than at that moment, when she stepped up to help. “What do you want me to do first?”
“Fetch the cloths from the maids,” Zoe ordered. She pointed towards a doorway leading through to the kitchens. “And remind them to make damn sure they boil the water before using it for anything else.”
She paused. “And make damn sure you wash your hands first,” she added. “I won’t have you infecting the men either.”
Fiona nodded and walked down the room, shying away from the wounded men. Leo had never given medical attention in his life; the very thought of touching wounded flesh was disgusting. Hell, he and the others in his CityBlock on Earth had never even liked to cut up meat, when they'd been able to afford it. They’d found it so much easier to buy ration bars and other pre-processed foodstuffs.
He caught sight of two of the maids as they entered, carrying a massive bucket of water between them. Colonel Stalker had apparently allowed them to stay, a decision Leo found hard to fault, even if they were eating up food and water. But they would almost certainly have been killed if they’d gone back to their own people. Besides, they could help the medics, allowing others to go back to the fighting.
Zoe coughed, bluntly. “You’re still here?”
Leo nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’d suggest that you check in with the Colonel first,” Zoe said. She looked him up and down, appraisingly. “I don't know what your shooting skills are like, but I’m sure that the soldiers would appreciate someone carrying bullets and grenades for them. Or were you planning to continue holding talks with the Wolfbane representatives while you were under siege?”
It was possible that the threat of death would encourage Lockhart to talk openly.
Leo snorted at the thought ... but, on reflection, it wasn't that bad an idea. Whatever they learned could be transmitted to the coast, where it could be passed on to the starships when they finally returned. And besides, it would help pass the time.
“I’ll ask the Colonel,” he said, finally. Fiona emerged from the doorway, carrying a pile of cloths on one hand. “Thank you.”
He waved goodbye to his wife, then turned and made his way towards the upper levels. The sound of shooting was growing louder, although it seemed to be irregular ... and the explosions seemed to be completely unpredictable. He supposed that made sense; the enemy would be trying to rotate their firing patterns, just to keep the defenders from becoming used to them. Or perhaps he was completely wrong and something else was at work.
“Hey,” a voice called. He turned to see a Marine – one of their escorts from the marketplace – standing there, staring at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To see the Colonel,” Leo said. “Where is he?”
The Marine barked a harsh laugh. “Not up there,” he said, dryly. “That would have taken you out into the open. I suggest that you follow me down to the situation room.”
Leo flushed, then obeyed. Another series of explosions rocked the complex as they picked their way downstairs and into a room that had been crammed with portable equipment. Several soldiers Leo didn't recognise sat at desks, staring at display screens; others milled around the table, arguing over the map of the city. The Colonel stood in the midst of them, seemingly totally calm. Even another thunderous explosion didn't make him react.
“Take a seat, Professor,” Colonel Stalker said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He looked past Leo to the Marine. “Did you send them on their way?”
“I did,” the Marine said. “And myself?”
Colonel Stalker pointed down at the map. “I have a specific task for you,” he said. “Listen carefully.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It is common to condemn diplomats for speaking softly, rather than issuing bullish threats. However, outright threats encourage resistance as well as forcing the country issuing the threats to actually back them up or appear a paper tiger. Bad feelings can alienate future relationships between countries. Diplomats always prefer to keep their voices down.
-Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.
“You do realise,” Watson said, as they ran through a final check of their weapons and equipment, “that they could legally shoot us if they caught us?”
Blake snorted. “I think we’re well past the legalities now,” he pointed out. “Besides, who have we fought in the last five years who would have honoured them anyway?”
He considered the question for a long moment, before dismissing it as a waste of time. It was perfectly true that a soldier out of uniform could be executed out of hand, on suspicion of being a spy, but he doubted that the locals would be interested in legalities. Their only real hope was to destroy the Residency and the CEF and then hope that they could play the Commonwealth and Wolfbane off against one another to prevent retaliation. Blake rather doubted that any of them would be allowed to survive if the locals won.
“No one,” Watson said, confirming his thoughts. His partner checked Blake’s equipment, then turned to allow Blake to do the same for him. “Are you ready?”
Blake nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Darkness had fallen over the city by the time they emerged from the Residency, but the moon had yet to rise, keeping the city shrouded in shadow. Blake silently bemoaned the lack of chameleon suits, but they were hardly necessary as they slipped forward, scrambled over the wall and made their way out towards the enemy lines. It was almost eerily quiet; the enemy had pulled in their guns as soon as night had started to fall, pulling back to recuperate and service their weapons. Blake doubted that would continue – sooner or later, the enemy would decide that constant bombardment would wear down the defenders –but for the moment he was glad of the peace. It gave them a chance to slip into the city unobserved.
He peered through his goggles as they advanced northwards, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. The entire region was a no-man’s land, but drone overflights had picked up a handful of people hiding in the rubble; some too small to be adult humans. Children, Blake assumed, probably untouchables. He hoped that they’d have the sense to stay out of the fighting. But then, once the enemy forces rolled forwards, they would probably be crushed flat unless they ran very quickly
There were no signs of enemy activity until they reached a large manor-style building six kilometres from the Residency, just outside mortar range. It was hard to be sure, but a combination of drone observation and communications interception had identified it as an enemy command post, one of several. Blake found himself rolling his eyes as he took in the sheer luxury – and complete indefensibility – of the building, before deciding that the enemy might not have made that big a mistake. If nothing else, it wasn't as if Colonel Stalker had the manpower to come out of the Residency and assault the building openly.
He smirked to himself as he scanned the grounds with his NVGs. There were a handful of armed guards at the gatehouse, but only a handful of
others patrolling the grounds. He watched long enough to take note of their patterns – and to take note of the fact that they never changed their routines – and then motioned for Watson to follow him forward, up to the wall. It might have deterred local youths, but it couldn't have slowed down a Marine for more than a few seconds They were up and over the wall, still cloaked in shadow, without being spotted. A moment later, they were in the shrubbery and making their way towards the house. None of the guards, it seemed, had NVGs. They certainly didn't raise the alarm as the Marines slipped past them.
Watson went to work on the nearest window as they pressed themselves against the building’s wall, finally undoing the latch and flipping it open with a sonic screwdriver. Blake leaned forward, stunner in hand, but no sound came out of the silent room. A moment later, he scrambled through the window and landed softly on the carpeted floor. A quick scan with his goggles revealed that the room was a bedroom, but - thankfully – deserted. It looked as though it was intended for a child.
This way, he signalled with his hands, leading the way out into the corridor. Inside, the building was astonishingly luxurious, far less tasteful than even the mansions the Old Council had built on Avalon. He found himself shaking his head as he slipped down the corridor, then froze as he saw a light in the distance. A single guard was standing there, wearing one of the most ridiculous uniforms Blake had ever seen. But there was nothing funny about the weapon in his hands.
Blake slipped forward stealthy, came up behind the guard and wrapped his hands around the guard’s neck, pushing down hard enough to force the guard to black out. He caught the guard’s weapon, put it to one side and gently laid the guard on the floor, then injected him with a sedative to ensure that he remained out of it. No doubt he would be caught asleep on watch, if the Marines managed to escape without being detected. In the Corps, being caught asleep while on duty was a serious offense; he had no idea how the locals would react to it, but he doubted that it would be pleasant.
Leave him, he signalled. Watson followed him up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Inside, there was a pale-skinned man in an oversized bed, alone. Blake glanced around and saw a handful of women sleeping in smaller beds, surrounding their lord and master. It struck him as something out of a bad sex VR package – not that he’d ever needed to use them, of course – but it didn't seem uncommon. Pirates took advantage of their absolute power over their victims too.
He crept forward and placed a tab against the man’s neck. His breathing seemed to catch, then grew deeper. It would be hours before the drug worked its way out of his body and by then he would be in the Residency – or dead. Smiling to himself, Blake pulled away the sheets and tugged the man out of bed. The noise, as slight as it was, awakened the girls.
“Stun them,” he hissed. Watson opened fire with his stunner, sending the girls collapsing back into unconsciousness. Quickly, he slung the man over his shoulder and led the way back outside, listening carefully. The noise might have been heard by another guard ...
“Shit,” Watson said, as someone started to shout in the native tongue. In the distance, Blake could hear the sound of running feet. “I think they’re on to us.”
“No shit,” Blake snapped. “Follow me.”
He led the way down the stairs, carrying the prisoner over his shoulder. The lights were coming on, his goggles automatically dimming to protect his eyesight. A line of guards appeared at the far end of the corridor, staring at the two Marines in absolute disbelief. Watson unhooked a grenade from his belt before they could react and tossed it into the mass of guards, blowing them into bloody chunks. It was followed by a flame grenade, starting a fire that threatened to consume the entire manor if it wasn't stopped. Blake breathed a silent prayer for the girls they’d stunned as the flames started to spread rapidly, then led the way towards the nearest exit. There was no time to waste sneaking out of a window.
More guards appeared as they used another grenade to break down the door and head outside. Watson took the lead, using his rifle to clear the way as Blake carried their captive towards the walls. Fortunately, the guards seemed to be completely confused about just what was going on; it didn't help that the MAG assault rifle was almost completely silent, depriving them of any clue as to where the sniper was hiding. Watson scrambled up onto the wall, took the captive and dropped him down onto the other side. Blake followed him, scooped up the captive and started to run. Behind him, he could hear the sound of firing growing louder. He wasn't entirely sure what they were shooting at; none of the shots were coming anywhere near the two Marines.
He glanced behind him briefly as he ran into the darkness. The manor was burning brightly now, flames licking through the windows and consuming the walls. He saw the roof start to fall in, burning all the evidence of their presence under the debris, then winced inwardly as he realised that the women might have been killed in the fire. They hadn't deserved death, he told himself. They’d been victims, just like almost everyone else on the planet.
Pushing the thought aside, he continued to run. It wouldn't be long before the enemy realised just who had been kidnapped – and why. And then they’d come after the Marines with everything they had.
***
Sivaganga had been sleeping an uneasy sleep when there was an urgent knocking on the door, instantly snapping him back to full wakefulness. The Prince had graciously invited him to share his lodgings, but Sivaganga knew better than to think that was a mark of favour. If nothing else, the Prince would want someone to take the blame if the operation failed completely.
“My Lord,” the messenger said, opening the door, “there has been an incident.”
He spilled out the whole story as Sivaganga reached for his robes and donned them, heedless of the messenger’s presence. It wasn't as if he was upper-caste, after all. Someone had raided a manor and left it a burning ruin ... and, according to some of the guards, they’d definitely taken one of the occupants with them. And the manor, the messenger finally got around to telling him, belonged to Ramnad Zamindari. If one of the Prince’s closest allies had been captured ...
“Tell the Prince I’m on my way,” he said, once the tide of words had finally come to an end. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
The Prince looked terrible, he decided, as he stepped into the office. His reputation for enjoying himself in the most extreme manner was no doubt accurate; he probably hadn't bothered to sleep between ending the bombardment for the evening and hearing the news about his ally’s kidnapping. His potential kidnapping, Sivaganga reminded himself firmly. It was quite possible that the man had died in the fire.
“This is intolerable,” the Prince thundered. There was blood on his hands, which he wiped off on his nightshirt. “How could they penetrate our security and carry off one of my allies?”
“They are trapped there,” Sivaganga pointed out, as mildly as he could. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the blood belonged to the messenger. Reporting bad news to an aristocrat was never a safe occupation. “They must be looking for other ways to weaken us.”
“And they have captured one of my most capable commanders,” the Prince snapped. “This hurts us badly!”
Sivaganga tended to disagree. Hotheads, in his experience, made poor commanders – or diplomats, or anything else that didn't require a heroic charge into the enemy guns. Indeed, by kidnapping the Prince’s man, the off-worlders had probably done the locals a big favour ... not that the Prince would see it like that. Losing one of his allies was bad enough, but it also made him look weak and foolish. Others would be tempted to challenge him and his Royal Father.
“Then we can offer to trade,” he suggested. “We still have the prisoner, don’t we?”
The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “You propose returning our sole captive to the enemy?”
“The off-worlders would be certain to bargain for his life,” Sivaganga pointed out. “And besides, we would recover him when the Residency fell.”
There was a long pa
use as the Prince mulled it over. Sivaganga knew that he was right; they could use the captive as a bargaining chip, if they were prepared to admit how they’d treated him. But he knew that the off-worlders would be likely to take a dim view of torture, even if the man was lower than the lowest caste. They’d only see it as a sign of what awaited them if they surrendered.
But how much could their captive tell them?
“Send in a white flag once the sun rises,” the Prince said, finally. “We will offer to trade captives – and then destroy the Residency, once and for all.”
Sivaganga scowled. The reports from their handful of remaining agents along the coastline had made it clear that the off-worlders were starting to build up the rebels into a formidable force. It had only taken the distribution of thousands of weapons to give them a boost in confidence; indeed, there had been uprisings and brief bursts of violence all over the mainland. No matter what happened to the Residency, it would be years before the rebels could finally be put down – and that assumed that the off-worlders went away, abandoning their allies. He knew that there was no shortage to the level of dishonesty practiced by off-worlders, but would they really be so callous?
But his opinion didn't matter. The Prince had made up his mind.
***
Edward came down to the entrance to congratulate the two Marines personally as they returned with their prize, an unconscious man in a pair of silk pyjamas that probably cost more than Edward’s annual salary. Ten minutes later, the man was transported down to the basement, cuffed to a chair and injected with a stimulant. He looked as if he didn't quite believe his eyes when he saw Edward – and realised that he was a prisoner.
The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores... Page 22