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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Michael nodded and started to issue orders. Carefully, the prisoners were searched, then secured with plastic ties. They’d have to sit in the mud and wait for pick-up, but at least they would be alive. And, if others saw prisoners being treated decently, they would feel encouraged to surrender themselves. Or so the theory went.

  Once the POWs were secured, they continued their advance through the enemy lines.

  ***

  “We’ve had quite a few surrenders,” Cindy reported. “Pick-up crews are on the way.”

  Jasmine looked over at her. “Any officers?”

  “Not as far as we know,” Cindy said. “We don’t have the manpower to spare for prisoner interrogation.”

  Excuses, Jasmine thought, coldly. It wasn’t entirely fair, but she didn't feel fair. Intelligence officers were always complaining about not having enough manpower ... but then, Cindy did have a point. There were only a handful of officers, all from the garrison, who spoke the local tongue and almost all of them were needed elsewhere. If they had picked up an enemy officer, he would probably remain unidentified until later. Much later.

  We could get the rebels to assist, she thought. But could we trust them not to abuse their prisoners?

  She shook her head and turned back to the display. The advance was going well; the main enemy line had been breached in two places, allowing her forces to advance and smash the enemy’s reserve forces. They wouldn't have a chance to counterattack, she told herself, while she would have a chance to prevent them from withdrawing and regrouping. Colonel Stalker would be pleased, even though there were ninety miles to go – including one city that had to be taken – before they reached the capital. But they would get there.

  Very good, she told herself, as another enemy line was broken. But will it be in time to save Private Polk?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Unfortunately, even after liberal applications of the big stick, problems don’t always go away. In fact, it is quite rare for a nation to be so completely eradicated that it no longer exists even in potential. Poland was divided up between various European powers throughout history, yet it managed to return to independence several times.

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

  General Abhey had gone to bed a satisfied man. Siding so openly with the Prince was a risk – the Rajah was far from dead – but it seemed to have paid off handsomely. He'd stopped the off-worlder force dead in its tracks, for which he had been richly rewarded and promised far more, once the off-worlders were completely defeated. Indeed, he’d even come up with a plan to ensure their rapid and complete defeat.

  Now ... he found himself utterly out of touch with most of his forces, while the enemy were clearly advancing towards him. It hadn't taken long for him to realise that every radio transmission brought destruction in its wake, while the landlines he’d used to communicate between strongpoints had been cut or otherwise disrupted by the enemy. Only a handful of lines had survived, hardly enough to coordinate his forces.

  He stared down at the map, trying to visualise the enemy advance before dismissing it as a useless effort. The shortage of intelligence meant that he couldn't say anything for certain, not even which units had survived the first bombardment. He'd sent off runners to nearby units, hoping to re-establish contact, but most of them had simply not returned. It was impossible to tell if they had been killed or if they’d taken the opportunity to desert.

  Placing his headquarters inside a town, he was coming to realise, might have been his sole smart move. The enemy seemed oddly reluctant to fire on his positions near civilian buildings, even ones that had been evacuated of their occupants and turned into makeshift barracks. It would certainly even the odds a little, he told himself, as he sent half of his personal guard to join the soldiers preparing a desperate defence of the town. But it was very much starting to look as though the enemy had shattered his lines.

  “Take a radio transmitter to an isolated location, then broadcast a generalised signal,” he ordered a runner. The young man didn't seem to realise the implications for him personally, thankfully. “The code word is Vishnu.”

  “Yes, My General,” the young man said.

  Abhey watched him go, knowing that the runner would be lucky if he managed to get out one or two repetitions of the code word before the enemy killed him. But maybe he’d be luckier than his commander. The Prince wouldn't be happy that the enemy had launched their offensive and would probably take it out on his former favourite. All the rank and money and women – he’d been promised a wife from the Rajah’s household – could be taken away just as easily.

  Plan Vishnu had been conceived as the ultimate fallback position. His troops – at least the ones below Pradesh - would scatter, avoiding the enemy tanks while reforming behind their lines. Once they were ready, they would harass the enemy supply lines, forcing them to divert forces to cover their rear. In the meantime, the reinforcements would turn Pradesh into a fortress that would bleed the off-worlders white.

  He looked over at the last of his personal guard and scowled. “We need to make our way to Pradesh,” he said, flatly. He’d have to abandon his uniform; thankfully, there were already so many refugees heading in countless directions that they’d probably pass unnoticed, as long as they didn't look like senior officers. “The rest of the guard can hold the town as long as possible.”

  Another runner came in, gasping for breath. “Hold your message,” Abhey ordered. “I need you to take one to the demolition crew on the dam. They’re to blow the dam as quickly as possible.”

  If nothing else, he told himself, a sudden torrent of water should definitely slow the off-worlders down.

  ***

  The final enemy line broke as the tanks found its weak spot, then crashed right through it into relatively clear lands beyond. Michael followed, watching grimly as countless enemy soldiers fought and died – or tried to surrender. A number of would-be prisoners were actually gunned down by their own fellows, forcing the remainder to stand and fight. Michael shook his head in disbelief, then pressed onwards. Behind them, the Warriors advanced, providing fire support if necessary.

  “Hold position,” the CO ordered, calmly. “Take prisoners if possible; if not, take a moment to catch your breath.”

  “They must be trying to smash the rest of their lines,” the Sergeant muttered. “And they don't want us to get too far ahead.”

  “Must be,” Michael said, taking advantage of the pause to take a long swig of water. The sound of shooting in the distance was slowly tapering off, although he had his doubts that all the enemy had been captured or wiped out. There were simply too many of them. “The CO won’t want cracks in our lines.”

  He peered into the distance, observing a thin river slowly meandering its way down to the sea. There were four bridges in view, all damaged badly enough to suggest that the engineers should put together a pontoon bridge rather than try to repair the local construction work. It struck him that there was something odd about the bridges, but he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. The bridges seemed to have been built for a far wider river.

  ***

  “I wouldn't have thought that they could build a dam,” Briggs observed, as the helicopter followed the river northwards. “Don't they need modern technology to build?”

  “Not if you're willing to spend money and lives building one with hand-powered tools,” Sergeant Andrew Wyrick observed. The dam was larger than anything on Avalon, although there was something curiously primitive about it. But then, the locals had tried to abandon technology altogether. “And this one clearly isn't intended to do more than help store water for the fields.”

  He frowned as he stared down at the dam. Dozens of tiny figures were running over it, doing ... something. It didn't seem as though the dam needed maintenance ... it struck him, in a moment of absolute horror, that the enemy were preparing to blow the dam. The reservoir didn't seem very full, but it wouldn't matter. Enough water was about
to come downstream to severely delay the offensive.

  “Alert,” he snapped, switching to the priority channel. “They’re planning to blow the dam; I say again, they’re planning to blow the dam.”

  A moment later, there was a puff of smoke from the structure. For a long second, Andrew thought that the dam was strong enough to resist demolition, even with modern explosives carefully placed by experts. And then a section of the dam started to crumble, allowing water to flood through the gap and into the riverbed. The pressure on the weakening structure intensified, further wrecking the structure ... as he watched, the outpouring of water brought down enough of the dam to allow it to flow freely. A torrent of water spilled downwards, heading towards the sea.

  “Correction,” he snapped, as he watched the flood heading westwards. “They’ve blown the dam; I say again, they’ve blown the dam.”

  ***

  Jasmine swallowed a curse as she saw the live feed from the helicopter – and the drones. A near-tidal wave of water was making its way downstream, spilling out over the riverbanks and flooding farmland that the locals would desperately need ... and threatening some of her men with complete destruction. They’d discussed the possibility of the enemy destroying the dam, but they hadn't taken it seriously. A rational foe would know that it would hurt their own ability to recover as much as it would threaten the CEF.

  These bastards don’t care, she thought, numbly. She could see some advantages for a completely heartless enemy in destroying the dam. Starvation would help terminate the revolution and allow the local government to restore order relatively easily. Why do we keep forgetting that they don’t care?

  “Order our forces to take cover,” she ordered, sharply. “And tell them to brace for impact.”

  ***

  “Get into the Warriors,” Michael bellowed, as the news came in. His men jumped to their feet and ran for the vehicles, opening the hatches and diving into the infantry compartments. “Hurry!”

  He understood, now, the significance of the bridges. The river had been dammed – but the dam would have to release some of the water from time to time, if only to ensure that it didn't overflow. Normally, he suspected, they would release the water gradually, making certain that a sudden flood wouldn't damage their infrastructure. Now ... the entire dam was collapsing into rubble.

  The Warrior came to life, motoring to find what cover it could as the ground began to rumble. Michael braced himself as the shaking grew worse, then swore out loud as the vehicle rocked violently. For a terrifying moment, it felt as if they were going to be swept away before the pressure was suddenly gone. He shook his head, then opened the hatch and jumped outside, weapon in hand. His men followed him.

  He drew in a breath as he surveyed the devastation. The land was soaked; trees and crops had been utterly destroyed. Bodies had been washed into the riverbed and left there; the remains of the bridges had been swept away, leaving nothing left for the engineers to rebuild. It struck him, suddenly, that no matter how much damage the flood had done to the CEF, it would have done much more to the local forces. They hadn't had Warriors or Landshark tanks to protect them.

  The prisoners, he thought, numbly. They were exposed to the water.

  His radio buzzed. “Hold position,” the CO ordered. “We are assessing the situation.”

  “Send bridging crews,” Michael advised. “We can get across before they realise that we’re coming for them.”

  ***

  “Jesus,” Cindy breathed.

  Jasmine couldn’t disagree. The massive flood hadn't inflicted as much damage on her forces as she had feared, but it had devastated the countryside. In its wake, there would definitely be starvation – and anarchy. If she had been dependent on the country farms for supplies, she would have been in some trouble. As it was, it was merely a headache.

  “Tell our forces to continue to push forward,” she ordered, finally. “I want them across the first river before the enemy have a chance to respond.”

  ***

  The torrent of water hadn't been enough to damage the Landshark, but Sharon and her comrades had had a nasty moment when the onrushing water had threatened to undermine their position and send them rolling downwards to the sea. In its wake, the land was devastated – but the Landshark was utterly untouched, along with its fellows. The driver gunned the engine at the CO’s command and sent it forward, towards the remains of the river. It was nowhere near deep enough to provide a barrier to the tank.

  Bullets started to ping off the armour as the tank advanced through the water and onto the far side. Sharon scanned for the enemy snipers, located them hiding in the trees and fired a long burst from the machine gun back at them. The enemy had been smart and dumb at the same time; smart enough to realise that the trees on the incline would miss the flood, yet too dumb to realise that hiding in the trees merely made them easy targets. Sharon watched as their bodies vaporised under the hail of bullets, along with the trees themselves.

  “Bridging crews are on their way,” the CO said, as the other tanks took up position in support. “The ground-pounders will be crossing soon afterwards.”

  “Thought they could get Warriors through the water,” the driver commented. “Or are they afraid of getting their feet wet?”

  The CO gave him a reproving look. Sharon knew that he was thinking, even if he didn't say it out loud. The Imperial Army had tolerated a certain ... disdain between tankers and the infantry, but the Knights had been warned in no uncertain terms that such disdain would not be tolerated. Besides, while Sharon was warm and dry inside her tank, the infantry were slogging their way through the mud and ducking bullets that could actually hurt them.

  “They’re not all mounted in Warriors,” the CO said, finally. “And our trucks are not capable of crossing the river so effectively.”

  ***

  Michael detailed half of his Warriors to cross through the river and set up position on the other side, then waited for the bridging crews to arrive with barely-concealed impatience. The command network told him that reinforcements were already on the way, but they would need a bridge to get across the river. It also warned that large numbers of enemy troops appeared to be trying to advance on the far side, although very slowly ... he had a feeling that the enemy had probably realised that the Landshark tanks were waiting for them.

  The engineers hadn't been combat-tested either, but he was relieved to note that they were performing very well. Piece by piece, a bridge was assembled from supplies brought on trucks and pushed out over the water. Once it was in place, a Warrior drove across the structure and reached the far side, confirming that it was safe. It felt oddly rickety to Michael as he strode over the river, followed by the rest of his squad, but it would do. There would be time to get men and supplies over before it had to be replaced.

  He looked up as he saw the helicopter swooping overhead, heading east. It always made him feel better when he knew that there was friendly aircraft overhead, even though the exercises they’d run had been brutally clear on the limitations of air power. In the distance, he saw shells exploding among the enemy forces, driving them back from the river. Beyond that, according to the map he’d glanced at while he was in the Warrior, there was a mid-sized town.

  “Get back into the vehicles,” he ordered, once reinforcements had arrived. Two new Warriors would be detailed to protect the bridge, along with three platoons of infantry and a mobile air defence system. It was unlikely that the enemy would manage an airstrike, but losing the bridge would – at best – delay the advance. At worst, the forward edge of the CEF would be cut off, unable to retreat. “We have to advance against the town.”

  ***

  Ekachraka rattled his cuff mournfully as he drove the truck along the drenched road. The off-worlders had taken him and his family into his service – they’d provided both food and protection – but they didn't trust him, not completely. They’d cuffed one of his hands to the wheel, with the droll comment that if he plotted treachery
, his own life would be forfeit. They hadn’t said that his family would die afterwards, but he'd known what they’d meant. Why else would they take his family into protective custody if they didn't want to exact revenge if he betrayed his new employers?

  He couldn't believe the devastation the flood had left in its wake. Bodies were scattered everywhere; homes and entire villages had been smashed flat, their inhabitants killed or forced to flee. Surely only off-worlders could do something so evil ... but he knew precisely what the Rajah had been trying to do to the rebels for years. Devastating the countryside worked better for the government than for the off-worlders.

  The convoy came to a halt outside a badly-battered town. A handful of off-worlders jumped down from the lead vehicle and marched towards a warehouse that – somehow – had survived the flood. Ekachraka watched as they opened the door, revealing a mass of prisoners. They looked like drowned rats, he realised to his horror, as it became clear that the truckers were going to be transporting them back to the POW camps. He wanted to object – he knew that his lifespan would be radically shortened if loyalists realised that he was serving the off-worlders – but he knew better than to try. One by one, the prisoners were searched and then shoved into the vehicles. He couldn't help feeling that they looked altogether too wretched to threaten anyone.

  He did his best to ignore the moans and brief bitter comments as he put the truck back into gear, following the other vehicles back towards the POW camps. If nothing else, he told himself, it would give him a chance to see his family ... if the off-worlders were feeling merciful. He’d had only one brief meeting since entering their service.

  A line of trucks passed the convoy, heading in the other direction. Ekachraka shivered as he realised that they were transporting rebel fighters, who were waving their weapons in the air as they approached the battlefield. They looked undisciplined, certainly when compared to the off-world soldiers, but he knew that they would fight. And he knew what they would do to him and his family, if the off-worlders failed to protect them. One way or another, he knew, he was committed.