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

by Christopher Nuttall

  He glanced in the mirror, looking at the prisoners. They definitely seemed beaten, between whatever the off-worlders had done to capture them and the massive flood. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope that the off-worlders would win the war. And then ... everyone knew that off-worlders were inherently dishonest. The Imperial Army had promised to bring peace and yet somehow peace had never materialised. What would happen if these new off-worlders left, abandoning those who had served them to the mercies of the low-caste rebels?

  But it didn't matter. One way or the other, there was no choice. He was committed.

  He could only pray that the off-worlders kept their word.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  This was also true, to some extent, of Germany in the 20th Century. Crushing defeat in 1918 left the Germans down, but they rebuilt their power enough for a second major European war in 1939 – and, when they lost for a second time, they still returned to power decades later.

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

  It would not have pleased the Prince, Sivaganga knew, if he'd realised that Sivaganga had taken advantage of a brief opportunity to insert his own man into the military command centre. Indeed, he would be very angry, assuming that it was the first step in a plan to subvert his authority and perhaps even rebel against the Rajah. But Sivaganga had needed information, particularly when the Prince’s loud reports from the front were so clearly fabrications. If the number of off-worlders the Prince had claimed killed were added together, the defenders of the Residency would have been wiped out several times over.

  But learning that the enemy force on the coast had suddenly launched an offensive was definitely worth the risk, he decided as he pulled himself out of bed and called for servants to help dress him. The Prince was probably deciding how best to massage the news to his advantage, even though it was hard to imagine any good spin on the information. If the spy was telling the truth, the front lines had crumbled and the enemy were advancing rapidly towards Pradesh. By the time the messenger arrived with an urgent summons, Sivaganga was ready to head towards the Prince’s current centre of operations.

  In the semi-darkness outside his mansion, armed guards thronged the streets, eying each other suspiciously. Most of them wore imperial livery, but a number clearly belonged to various aristocratic families. Seeing them here, inside the city walls, was worrying. It suggested that the families no longer trusted the Imperial Family to guard their lives – and that the Rajah didn't feel strong enough to try to remove them from his city. Sivaganga couldn't help, but see it as a sign of the beginning of the end.

  He scowled as he heard the sound of gunfire echoing out from the Residency. The off-worlders had devices that let them see in the dark, like cats. It was the only explanation for the fact that none of their attempts to sneak up under cover of darkness had worked, which hadn’t stopped the Prince from continuing to order the suicide missions. A definite haze of desperation hung over the city and, outside the walls, the untouchables were restless. It would not be long, Sivaganga suspected, before they rioted again.

  The Prince’s current home was surrounded by so many armed guards that he might as well have hung a flag from the rooftop announcing his presence. Sivaganga was escorted down from the coach, searched briefly but firmly, then escorted down five flights of stairs into a basement. The Prince was standing in front of a large wooden table, pretending to study a map. Someone had drawn largely-fictitious military movements on the paper in red ink.

  “The enemy have opened their offensive from the coast,” the Prince said, without preamble.

  Sivaganga tried hard to seem surprised without overacting. The Prince would be suspicious if he showed no reaction, but equally suspicious if he showed too much surprise. Instead, he looked down on the map, carefully noting the arrows that suggested that the planet’s armoured forces were engaging the enemy and pushing them back, inflicting heavy casualties in the process. The Prince honestly couldn't be bothered to think of a good lie.

  “However, it raises a problem,” the Prince added. “We need to divert forces to Pradesh, which means taking the pressure off the Residency.”

  Sivaganga had to draw on every year of his considerable experience to keep his expression blank, despite the sheer scale of the insult. Just how stupid did the Prince think he was? If the enemy army was being forced back, why did they need to reinforce Pradesh? The city was forty miles east of the conflict zone, half-hidden within a fearsome mountain range. There was no logical reason to send additional troops there ... unless, of course, the military update the Prince had given him was a complete fabrication.

  He tried to think of a question that would needle the Prince a little, without pushing him too far, then dismissed it.

  “I wish you to speak with the other families,” the Prince said. “You will inform them that they are to dispatch their household troops to assist with the siege.”

  This time, Sivaganga was sure that he showed an unwanted reaction. If the Prince thought that the other aristocratic families would obey just like that, he was wrong – dreadfully wrong. They’d see it as an admission of weakness and move against the Rajah, starting the civil war Sivaganga feared. Indeed, if they realised just how bad the military situation actually was, they might just launch a coup and try to surrender to the off-worlders. The hell of it was that he was honestly wondering if that might be the best possible solution.

  “They would need to be convinced that it was in their best interests,” he said, slowly. “And their forces are mainly infantry, unsuited to the task of engaging armoured enemy forces.”

  It was worse than that, he knew. The family who had ruled Jhansi had lost most of their wealth in the wake of the refugee settlement and the Imperial Army’s ‘peacekeeping’ operation. They were still aristocrats, but they could barely raise the money to keep their palaces in the capital intact, let alone fund household troops. He couldn't see the other families being willing to send their troops away from the capital, not when the off-worlders would chew them to pieces. It was far more likely that they would refuse to comply altogether.

  On the face of it, the Rajah had a far more powerful army he could use to threaten them. But with most of his army engaged in combat with the enemy forces, the aristocrats would enjoy unprecedented freedom. Who knew what they might do with it?

  “You are known for having a silver tongue,” the Prince said. “Convince them that it is in their best interests.”

  “They would want specifics of our military success before committing themselves,” Sivaganga said, smoothly. Unless he missed his guess, the official version would have so many contradictions that someone would be bound to challenge it. “May I make a counter-proposal.”

  The Prince eyed him suspiciously, but gave his assent.

  “Suggest to them that they share in the glory of destroying the Imperial Residency,” Sivaganga proposed. “They can send their troops to join those assaulting the walls, freeing up imperial soldiers to head to the coast.”

  There was a long cold moment when he thought he’d finally gone too far. The Prince’s face darkened so rapidly that Sivaganga was sure that his next command would be to call for the headsman, aristocratic victim or no. But the Prince controlled himself – somehow – and leaned forward. His voice, when he spoke, was very calm. Too calm.

  “The Rajah was shamed when the off-worlders first established themselves in our capital,” the Prince hissed. “We will not share the glory of finally removing their taint with anyone.”

  You’ll have to decide soon, Sivaganga thought, coldly. Do you want to destroy the Residency before it is too late – or not?

  He could understand the Prince’s dilemma. The lands between Maharashtra and Pradesh had been restless, ever since the first rumours had spread from farmer to farmer, but so far the untouchables had refrained from open revolt. Indeed, the various families who owned most of the land had been reinforcing their security battalions in the region, just to en
sure that any revolt was nipped in the bud. But if Pradesh fell to the off-worlders and their rebel allies, the untouchables would revolt and the entire countryside would go up in flames. The off-worlders had to be stopped at Pradesh.

  But if he pulled his forces away from the Residency, he weakened the Rajah’s position – and, by extension, his own.

  “It would make them feel as though they were making a valued contribution,” Sivaganga said, smoothly. “And it would free up your forces to wipe out the remaining off-worlders.”

  The Prince glowered at him. “Speak to them,” he ordered. “Tell them that the Rajah demands their service. And tell them that if they refuse, I will not forget.”

  Fool, Sivaganga thought. You’re in no position to threaten them.

  But he knew he couldn't say that out loud. Instead, he bowed and backed out of the room.

  The Prince, already turning back to his imaginary maps, didn't even see him go.

  ***

  Private Mathew Polk was all too aware that he’d lost track of time. Chained to the wall, kept permanently in semi-darkness, it was impossible to tell just how long he’d been a prisoner. His body felt permanently sore, which suggested that he hadn't been held for more than a few days, but his universe had shrunk to the prison cell. The only diversion from his own thoughts – and madness – was his nursemaid. Her tender ministrations were all that he had to look forward to, ever since they’d stopped the interrogations.

  He looked up as he heard the door creaking open – and winced as he realised that it wasn't his nursemaid. Instead, it was a tall pale-skinned man with a beard, wearing robes that made him look like a colour-blind peacock. The thought almost made Mathew smile, before he remembered where he was. Anyone wearing such clothes had to be very important indeed.

  “I sent the guards away for a few minutes,” the newcomer said. “I have a question to ask you.”

  Mathew hesitated. The guards were gone? If the newcomer was telling the truth, he could escape ... but he was still chained to the wall and barely able to move, even without the cuffs and shackles. Without them, he might just be able to make to the door before the guards returned and discovered that he’d escaped. He pushed the wistful thought out of his mind and looked up at his guest. Surprisingly, he thought he saw a hint of compassion in the man's eyes.

  “You have a commander,” the newcomer said. “How do I get in touch with him?”

  “I told you who the overall commander is,” Mathew reminded him. “And you seem to have him under siege.”

  “That could be problematic,” the man admitted. “Who is in command of the invading army?”

  Mathew blinked. Invading army? The CEF?

  “Yes, your friends are advancing,” the man snapped. He ignored the hope that had to be plainly visible on Mathew’s face. “Who should we talk to in your army?”

  “Brigadier Yamane is in command of the CEF,” Mathew said, finally. He was sure that he had told them that already, even though he wasn't sure why this man wanted to talk to him privately, “But you would need to make some concessions before ... he ... even agreed to talk.”

  “Thank you,” the man said, standing up. “Don’t mention this conversation to anyone and I’ll see what I can do about getting you out of this cell.”

  Mathew watched him go, wondering if he dared hope. In the end, he told himself that it was all he had left.

  ***

  Edward peered out over the city as dawn rose for the fourth day. The enemy had restricted themselves to shelling and probing attacks for the last day, but the drones had revealed more forces massing, just out of mortar range. And they’d been sweeping the city so thoroughly that Edward had refused to allow Blake Coleman to set out on another disruption mission. It wasn't worth the risk of losing him.

  He rubbed his jaw where Villeneuve had struck him, feeling the dull ache pervading his body. In truth, he had expected Polk’s CO to take a swing at him; he’d allowed the blow to land partly, although he was loath to admit it to himself, because he felt he deserved it. Polk might not have been precisely abandoned, but Edward knew better than to think the lost Private had any real hope of survival. Under the circumstances, he couldn't blame Villeneuve for throwing a punch. It suggested the kind of loyalty to his men that would, in a fair universe, have taken him far.

  I’ll have to have him promoted, Edward told himself. In the Empire, taking a swing at a CO was an automatic dishonourable discharge – if not a sentence to a penal world – but the Commonwealth couldn't afford to lose a good officer. And besides, Edward rather understood. If the roles had been reversed, he would probably have done the same thing.

  You mouthed off to the Grand Senate, he thought. And that got you sent out here.

  Lakshmibai would be a strange place to die, he knew. It was of no great importance; not to the Empire, nor to any of its successor states. Even the star’s location was poor for any sort of basing rights – and besides, installing a military base elsewhere in the system would be no great difficulty. Only pirates would be interested in the system, and only then insofar as they could raid the surface for women and food supplies. Other than that, the locals could have their insular existence and no one would give a damn.

  “Edward,” a voice said, from behind him.

  “Leo,” Edward said. He turned to face the Professor, who looked very out of place on the rooftop. “You shouldn't be up here.”

  The Professor looked surprised. “I thought they weren’t shooting at us at night.”

  Edward waved a hand towards the rising sun, then shrugged. “They don't seem to try to sneak snipers up until dawn breaks,” he said, leading the way towards the hatch. “But we really should be under cover.”

  He didn't say anything else until they were back in the stairwell, heading down towards the Situation Room. “How’s Fiona?”

  “Coping, I think,” the Professor said. “But she still gets nervous every time a shell whistles in and explodes.”

  “Understandable,” Edward said. Most of the soldiers were used to being under fire, even if it was only in training, but the civilians didn't have that luxury. “This wasn't quite the luxury vacation she was promised.”

  The Professor snorted. “How do you manage to keep so calm?”

  Edward smiled at him. “My first Captain used to say that he was in command, and if there was any panicking to be done he’d do it,” he explained. It had been a joke, of sorts; Marines who were inclined to panic under fire were generally sorted out during Boot Camp and politely, but firmly told that the military was not a good career choice. “That kept me going until the day I woke up and discovered that I was in command.”

  “Oh,” the Professor said. He smiled, wanly. “Colonel ... can we get out of this?”

  Edward shrugged. “The CEF is hammering the enemy hard,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. It was still seventy miles between the CEF’s current location and the enemy capital, including a city that had to be taken by storm. If it had been a straight drive, they’d be with them in an hour ... but it wasn't going to be that simple. “They’ll have to decide if they want to take us out more than they want to stop the CEF.”

  He glanced into a room and saw one of his soldiers snuggling with one of the maids. The rules against fraternisation seemed pointless when the odds were strongly against them getting out of the trap, although he’d made it clear that if any if the soldiers forced a maid into bed there would be hell to pay. Or, for that matter, if a soldier allowed himself to be distracted from his duties.

  A soldier who won’t fuck won’t fight, he thought, remembering one half of the saying. It was true, but so was the other half. A soldier who fucks when he should be fighting won't be fucking or fighting in the future.

  Shaking his head, he looked back at the Professor. “I wish I could be more confident,” he admitted, “but these people are irrational. I don't know which way they will jump.”

  ***

  Leo felt his heart sink as the Colonel
outlined the problem. He'd known just what they were facing, but he’d hoped that the Colonel might think differently. But instead, the Colonel had agreed with his private assessment of their situation.

  “Thank you,” he said, finally.

  He left the Colonel behind and walked down to the very lowest level. They'd been lucky, he’d been told; as a married couple, they'd been given a room to share. It was tiny, compared to the luxury bedroom they didn’t dare use, but compared to the sleeping quarters the soldiers were sharing it was luxury incarnate. Inside, Fiona was lying on a blanket, fast asleep. He closed the door and looked down on her.

  Asleep, the tension that had lined her features had drained away, reminding him of the girl he’d fallen in love with and married. It was easy to see where his daughters’ hair and eyes had come from, even if he had provided their cheekbones. Fiona looked almost young again.

  He felt tears prickling at his eyes as he touched her forehead lightly. It was strange to realise that being in danger of a violent death had worked this miracle, stranger still to realise that he was almost grateful. As hard as her life had been since they’d left Earth, she’d escaped a far worse fate on the doomed world. Shaking his head, he lay down beside her and held her tightly. She shifted against him, cuddling up to his body. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax.

  A moment later, the first shell of the day exploded outside the building.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  In short, historical problems do not tend to simply go away. The solutions to the first set of problems can lead neatly to the next set of problems.

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

  The enemy town was large enough to be a small city on Avalon, Jasmine decided, as she studied the live feed from the drones. It was barely a third of Jhansi’s size – a tenth of Maharashtra’s size – yet it was crammed with civilians and enemy soldiers. Ideally, she would have preferred to envelop the town and leave the town to wither on the vine, but there were too many civilians inside. They’d starve to death a long time before the enemy soldiers finally collapsed – or surrendered.