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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Edward studied the maid thoughtfully. It was hard to place her age, but she was clearly a young woman – with the slender figure that seemed to be the local ideal. Her skin was paler than the other maids, almost pale enough to make her pass for one of the highest caste. It was easy to see why she was popular – the brown eyes were enough to make him melt – but less easy to see why she might have volunteered for the mission.

  “Mad,” he said. The girl nodded. Despite her composure, it was clear that she was thoroughly terrified. “Do you understand what we’re asking you to do?”

  “Yes,” Mad said. Her voice was very soft, so quiet that Edward had trouble hearing her. “I understand.”

  Edward met her eyes. “Why do you want to do this?”

  Mad’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. “Look at me,” she hissed, somehow keeping her voice low. “I'm mixed. Father ... took mother and gave her me. I don’t fit in anywhere.”

  “I see,” Edward said. Her skin colour would have marked her out as the bastard child of a higher caste man, but not ensured that she was treated as befitted someone of such status. It was easy to see why she’d been pushed into maid service; no doubt the thought of ordering someone so pale around was a pleasure to members of the lower castes. “And you understand what might happen to you if you get caught?”

  The girl gave him an oddly-scornful look. “Would that be any different from what they would do to me if the walls fall?”

  “No,” Edward said, after a moment. The girl was brave enough, he had to admit. “Please wait outside.”

  He waited for the girl to leave the room, then looked up at Coleman. “Do you think she’s up to it?”

  “She’s the only one who claimed to know someone we could talk to,” Coleman admitted. “We’re short on options, sir.”

  “I know,” Edward said. He hated sending anyone into danger, particularly an untrained civilian who would be more of a liability than an asset. But Coleman was right. They were running critically short of options. He glanced at his wristcom, noting that there were still five hours until dusk. “Get some sleep and make sure that she does too. Then ... good luck.”

  He watched Coleman go, then looked down at the latest report from the CEF. Brigadier Yamane was preparing to thrust over the river towards Pradesh, at which point she would have to gamble on her hastily thought out plan to take the city. And if it failed, Edward knew, the CEF would have to fight its way through, block by block ... with all the attendant civilian and military casualties. It would be a bloody meatgrinder that would rival Han for sheer awfulness.

  Damn it, he thought, as he stood up to inspect the defences. But we don't have much time left.

  ***

  Blake dropped down from the wall and glanced around, pistol in hand. There was no sign of anyone moving, not even a handful of people hiding in the ruins surrounding the Imperial Residency. Perhaps the smell had driven them away, he told himself, silently grateful for the benefits of modern medicine. They’d all had their senses of smell surgically reduced by the medics, ensuring the stench couldn't get to them.

  He looked up and nodded. Mad dropped down a moment later, right into his arms. He glanced down at her face – deliberately blackened until she was almost as dark as Blake himself – and then put her on her two feet. There was no time for clowning around, not when they had several miles to walk without being detected.

  “Stay behind me and keep to the shadows,” he muttered. “And don’t say a word.”

  She followed him, surprisingly quietly by his standards, as he led the way through the ruins and up towards the enemy lines. The enemy seemed to have drawn back a little, purely to allow them to police most of the city ... a curious reaction, Blake had thought, when the guards weren't anywhere near their two greatest security threats. But it allowed him to ensure that they slipped through without being detected. He relaxed slightly as they reached the poorer part of town, where there were still a handful of civilians on the streets. If they saw him in the semi-darkness, they’d mistake him for another civilian.

  Better not let them see my skin, he thought, sourly. It would be curtains for sure.

  Earth had no racism, at least not based on skin colour. Centuries of inbreeding and genetic modification had produced a population that tended to blur the ethnic traits together into one collective whole. But it still existed on many of the outer worlds, including the ones that based themselves on a standard largely-mythical ethnic background. He’d been on Edo during one short period of leave and seen how the locals looked at anyone who lacked the features their ancestors had spliced into their DNA.

  But most such worlds had no underclass. Here, the darker the skin, the lower the caste ... something that bothered Blake on a very fundamental level. His homeworld had no such nonsense; the Marine Corps was a raving meritocracy, but if he'd been born here he would have been condemned to hew wood and draw water for his entire life. There would have been no education, no chance of bettering himself ... hell, if they sensed the urge for a fight that had propelled him into the Corps, they would probably have killed or gelded him out of hand. Mad had told him what happened to untouchables who grew too rowdy. It sickened him.

  He kept to the shadows as the quality of houses slipped rapidly. From the maps, he knew that the poorest members of the lower castes – but not the untouchables – lived right up against the edge of the city walls. He’d been at a loss to know how the walls were intended to deter anything until he’d realised that rioting untouchables probably wouldn't have access to high explosives or even primitive gunpowder. Given time, he could teach them how to make gunpowder, although he hoped that the fighting would be over before that became necessary.

  Mad motioned for him to stop, pointing to a house right on the edge of the walls. Blake lurked behind, one hand on his pistol, as Mad slipped up to the building and gently knocked on the door. A hatch opened, revealing a woman wearing a scarf that concealed most of her features. There was a brief exchange between them and then Mad waved for Blake to come forward, into the building. The door closed with a dull thud.

  “This way,” Mad said, giving the woman a handful of local coins. “There’s a tunnel under the walls.”

  Blake scowled as he was led down into the basement and through a tunnel that looked to have been carved out by hand. It didn't seem very secure at all; indeed, he was surprised that the constant shockwaves caused by the explosions hadn't caused it to collapse. He’d crawled through tighter spaces while boarding starships, he told himself as he slipped forward, but it didn't really help. It was a relief to finally emerge on the other side, where another woman waited for them. Her face was a dark brown, illuminated by a candle she held in her hand.

  Mad spoke briefly to her, then led Blake up a flight of stairs and out into the streets. The difference struck him at once; inside, the buildings were relatively solid, outside they seemed permanently on the verge of falling down. There was rubbish and human waste everywhere, although he couldn't help noticing that no one seemed to throw out food. The NVGs revealed a handful of people sleeping in the open. They were lucky, he told himself, that the weather was temperate all the year round. They’d freeze to death in colder climates.

  “This is my home,” Mad said, as they reached a tiny shack. There was a note of ... bitterness in her voice. “I was born here.”

  The minute he looked inside, Blake knew why she was bitter. It was a tiny house, barely more than one room ... with a cage hanging from the ceiling. A pair of teenage girls seemed to be sleeping in the cage. It took him a moment to realise that it was the only way to protect their reputation, although somehow he doubted that it would matter. How could anyone live in such an environment?

  Mad motioned for him to sit on the floor – he didn't dare lean against the wall for fear of bringing it down – and chattered to the four teenage boys in the room. One of them left moments later, the others stayed where they were, watching Blake through fascinated eyes. It was easy to tell that they had t
heir doubts, but they didn't seem inclined to make a fuss. Besides, he had the distant feeling that they viewed Mad as hopelessly compromised anyway.

  The door opened, revealing an elderly man. “You’re from the Residency,” he said, as soon as the door was closed. His Imperial Standard was poor, but understandable. “And she” – he nodded to Mad – “saw fit to bring you here. What do you want?”

  Blake studied him for a long moment. The man was old, but his eyes were sharp and there was clearly nothing wrong with his brain. He knew that Blake wouldn't have been sent to the untouchable slums unless he wanted something ... but any form of contact with the off-worlders could have the most dire repercussions. Blake wouldn't blame him in the slightest for being unwilling to commit himself before he saw something to make him believe that he wouldn't simply be abandoned.

  “Part of our force is held under siege in the Residency,” he said, bluntly. There was no way to know how much the man knew of what was going on outside the city. The upper castes might have tried to keep a lid on the news, but rumours spread faster than Blake could shed his shipsuit when confronted by a pretty girl. “The remainder is advancing on the city.”

  “On the other side of Pradesh,” the man said. “It is yet to break through the gap.”

  Not ignorant, then, Blake noted.

  “It will,” he said, confidently. He had every faith in Jasmine Yamane who had, after all, commanded the operation that had brought down Admiral Singh. “Mad informs me that you are one of the underground leaders here. We would like to work with you to bring down the government.”

  “And save your own people,” the elderly man mused. He threw Mad a long considering look, then peered back at Blake. “And how are we to know that you won’t use us and then throw us aside.”

  Blake kept his voice level. “Right now, the caste government is tottering,” he said, remembering the reports from the CEF. “If you take advantage of its weakness to rise against it, you would not only bring it down faster, but earn yourself a place at the table to sort out the post-war world.”

  “And if we rose too soon, we would be crushed,” the old man pointed out, mildly. “What can you offer us now?”

  “They think that they have disarmed you,” Blake said, evenly. “We have looked at the tools and equipment they allow you to use and we know better. You have weapons, you just don’t know how to put them to use. We can teach you how to use them – and how to obtain better weapons of your own.”

  He leaned forward. “Once they get through Pradesh, there’s a straight run to the capital,” he continued. “We can and we will ship weapons forward, to arm you and your people for an uprising. You would be able to face your tormentors on even terms for the first time in your life.”

  “We will not act until your forces are in position to support us,” the old man said, finally. His eyes narrowed. “If we take this to ... them, we would be assured of some reward.”

  “A bullet in the back of the head, perhaps,” Blake suggested. “Maybe that would make a change from torture followed by sudden death.”

  He met the old man’s eyes. “The starships will be back,” he said. “There is no way that your government can overrun the garrison, or convince the starships that the whole affair was a dreadful misunderstanding. When they arrive, this world will be destroyed – unless the Residency is saved and a new government is in place to take over the reins of power. You could betray us, of course you could. But you’d only be betraying yourselves along with us.”

  “A convincing argument,” the man noted. He reached out and caught Mad’s eye, pulling her to her feet. “I need to talk to my daughter, if you don’t mind.”

  Blake watched him leading Mad away, feeling oddly disbelieving. Mad was his daughter? But if that was true, who was her mother? Or was she merely his adopted child? He pushed the thought aside a second later, looking around at the teenage boys. They stared back at him with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. To them, he had to seem like a character out of a story – a man who was like them, yet superior in every way.

  And you should know better than to think of yourself like that, he scolded himself. Even the best Marine can be killed by a ten-credit bullet fired by an idiot.

  It was nearly twenty minutes before they came back into the room. “She believes that you can teach us,” the man said. “When do you intend to begin?”

  “As soon as you wish,” Blake said. The plan hadn't called for an immediate return to the Residency. If he’d been rejected, he would have explored the city and then holed up somewhere until night fell again. “Mad can supply you with our shopping list.”

  “You can't stay here,” the man warned. “Mad can't stay here either. They know that she stayed inside the Residency. If she were to be found outside, it would raise far too many questions. We shall find a place for her to stay elsewhere.”

  He turned, barking orders all the time. “And your clothes look too good. Come with me. And walk as if you have a hunchback. You look disgustingly healthy for one of us.”

  Smiling to himself, Blake followed. The resistance seemed to have a good awareness of security, thankfully. He would have bet good money that the delay in the man’s arrival had been caused by a careful check of the surroundings, just to make sure no snatch team lay in wait. It was good to be working with people who understood the risks.

  His smile grew wider. If nothing else, he was going to finally do something that might do more than delay the inevitable. And it would also satisfy his desire for a fight.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Allies could have treated Germany gently, admitting that they all shared the blame for the war, or they could have broken Imperial Germany back into its pre-1871 state. Either one would have made a German war of revenge unlikely (or at least harder).

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

  “This place should be suitable,” the engineering crew said. “We’ll start work at once.”

  Michael nodded. The Ganges River was a far more formidable obstacle than the first river they’d crossed, being deep and wide enough to prevent a Warrior from simply motoring across the riverbed and appearing, dripping wet, on the far side. As the river was the only natural barrier between the CEF and Pradesh, the enemy had dug in along the far bank, establishing guns and bunkers everywhere they could. It seemed to have stopped the CEF cold.

  He smirked. The main body of the CEF had stopped on the near side and were shaking their fists at the enemy defenders, but his unit had advanced southwards until they found a place where the river could be bridged easily. No doubt the enemy had scouts out watching for any attempt to outflank the defenders, yet they would have some trouble reacting to the CEF’s move. Their tanks and other vehicles couldn't move without being seen by the drones and hammered by long-range guns.

  The bridge grew rapidly until it touched the far side. As before, it seemed dangerously fragile, but he knew that it was remarkably solid. He led his platoon across the bridge to secure the far side, then waved to the Warrior drivers, inviting them to bring their vehicles over the river. Once they were over, two of them would remain to provide security while the others would follow him back down to take the defenders in the rear.

  Hopefully we’ve outflanked their IEDs too, he thought, remembering how another Warrior and four trucks had been lost to IEDs over the past few days. Small bands of enemy soldiers were still roaming the countryside, emplacing IEDs along the roadsides or terrorising small villages that might otherwise have sided openly with the rebels. They would all be wiped out in time, Michael was sure, particularly as the rebels brought more and more armed men into their forces, but until then they would continue to be a nuisance.

  “I’d love to go climbing there,” one of his soldiers muttered, as they advanced northwards, following the river down towards the sea. “Do you think there are Mountain Men there?”

  Michael snorted. Avalon’s Mountain Men were cranky old hermits – or so he had bee
n told; he’d never met one. They were generally unfriendly to visitors, rarely leaving the mountains even for medical attention; it was an open question how they courted and married their wives. But they also stayed out of politics ... here, he suspected, the hills were alive with rebels and bandits, taking advantage of the terrain to hide from the local government.

  Or maybe not, he thought, looking towards the forbidding peaks that dominating the eastern skyline. Those mountains don’t look hospitable at all.

  “You can ask the locals, once we’ve won the war,” Sergeant Grieves said. “Until then, shut up and soldier.”

  ***

  “The flanking movement seems to have succeeded,” Buckley said. “They’re heading right towards the enemy lines.”

  Jasmine nodded. It had been a gamble, but the enemy seemed obsessed with preventing them from heading right for Pradesh, destroying bridges and digging in along the direct route. She’d hoped that meant that they wouldn't be so fixated on any other possible angles of approach ... and her gamble seemed to have paid off. The enemy didn't seem to have noticed that over seven hundred infantrymen and their vehicles had already crossed the Ganges and were bearing down on them.

  “Order the artillery to open fire,” she ordered. “And then the tanks are to advance directly towards the enemy.”

  “Understood,” Buckley said.

  Thirty seconds later, she heard the big guns begin to fire.

  ***

  Michael sucked in his breath as he saw the explosions in the distance as the big guns pounded the enemy with high-explosive shells. There seemed to be fewer secondary explosions this time, as far as he could tell; the enemy might have realised – finally – that parking fuel or ammunition close to their guns wasn't a bright idea. He heard, moments later, the sound of enemy guns trying to return fire, although their shooting seemed ragged. The drones spotted the gunners and targeted their positions for the next barrage from the other side of the river.