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

by Christopher Nuttall

  He keyed his radio. “We’re moving in,” he reported. “Keep a very close eye on our position.”

  They’d practiced advancing under cover of a moving barrage on Avalon – a hair-raising operation at the best of times – but a retreating barrage was something new. The prospect of an accident that led to friendly fire taking out one or more of his soldiers had haunted his thoughts ever since he'd been briefed on the battle plan, yet he knew that it was a risk that had to be taken. It was clear that the enemy had at least three to four thousand men in the area, badly outnumbering his force. If they rallied before the tanks made it across the river, the whole operation might go spectacularly wrong.

  “Fire,” he ordered.

  The Warriors lurched forward, aiming to take the enemy position in the rear. Michael watched with cold approval as enemy troops were picked off before they realised that they were under attack, or scattered in horror as they discovered that they were surrounded. He felt his face twist into a smile as he saw several of the black-clad enforcers; no one had realised it, but their first targets were where they were intimidating the ordinary soldiers into maintaining their positions. The enforcers scattered or died, their command authority dying with them.

  He fired a shot at a soldier who was trying to take aim at one of the Warriors and activated his communicator. “Call for surrender,” he ordered. If the enforcers were gone, perhaps they could wrap it up before the tanks arrived. “Tell them that they won’t be hurt.”

  The Warriors started to broadcast the surrender offer, telling the enemy soldiers to throw away their weapons, lie down on the ground and put their hands on their heads. Michael saw a number obey, but others kept running or tried to fight. It was hopeless, he knew, yet they fought anyway. The sound of shelling died away as the tanks came out of the water, machine guns constantly scanning for new targets. Moments later, the enemy position was effectively in their hands.

  “Move the prisoners outside the position,” Michael ordered, as the firing came to an end. “And keep a sharp eye on them.”

  He shook his head ruefully as he counted the bedraggled prisoners as they were led out of their former position and told to sit down in a nearby field. There were nearly two thousand of them, far more than anyone had expected to capture. He left them in the hands of Sergeant Grieves, then went to join the parties exploring the remains of the enemy positions. Not all of the makeshift bunkers had stood up well to the barrage, he discovered. Several of them were crammed full of dead soldiers, who had been killed through shock or overpressure. He shuddered, fighting down the urge to be violently sick as he staggered away from the scene.

  Good thing we did manage to outflank them, he decided, as he glanced at some of the stronger bunkers. They’d held, protecting their inhabitants ... and keeping them in an excellent position to fire on anyone trying to cross the river. If we’d had to charge right into the teeth of their fire, we would have been massacred.

  He looked back at the mountains and shuddered. Pradesh was waiting for them – and Pradesh could not be outflanked. It was a fight that would give most of the advantages to the defenders, while all of the CEF’s technological advantages would be negated by the urban location. Ideally, Pradesh would be left to starve ... but that wasn't an option. Whatever else happened, he knew, the coming fight was going to be a nightmare.

  ***

  The bridging crews moved up as soon as the enemy fire died away and started work on a new series of pontoon bridges. Jasmine watched – tired even though she hadn't fought herself – as the bridges were put into position in record time, allowing reinforcements and supplies to flow across the Ganges. Her forward elements had already advanced, ensuring that the enemy couldn't mount a counterattack without being detected and repulsed. In their place, Jasmine would have tried to launch a counterattack at once to destroy the new bridges, but that wasn't really an option. The enemy had no sizable forces on the near side of Pradesh.

  They do have insurgents, she thought, grimly. Only thirty minutes ago, there had been a report of another ambush, aimed at a truck convoy heading east. No one had been hurt, let alone killed, but it had spooked the drivers. And they weren't always that lucky. We’re being worn down, piece by piece.

  It would have been better if she had been prepared to rely totally on the rebels, but she wasn't sure she dared. There had been no more targeted killing, at least as far as they knew, yet there had been quite a bit of intimidation – and hundreds of higher-caste survivors had headed to the coast and begged to be taken to one of the holding islands. Jasmine suspected that the rebels had told them that if they didn't leave, they would be killed ... which was, as Buckley had pointed out, really fucking stupid. The rebels were composed of former slaves, servants and refugees. They didn’t know the first thing about running a farm, maintaining complex equipment or even building a government. Hell, most of the rebels who had tried to learn how to drive just hadn't had the patience or aptitude for it.

  The hatred has sunk in too deep, she told herself, with a shudder. Would Avalon have ended up like this, if we hadn't been there?

  She scowled. The Cracker War had come to such a favourable conclusion because the Marines had beaten the Crackers on the battlefield ... and because the new government had offered the Crackers reasonably decent terms, separating the radicals from those who merely fought for justice. Despite the long history of the rebellion, it had been possible to form a new order that had accepted all of the planet’s factions. But here ... somehow, she doubted the hatred between the castes would melt away so quickly. They’d hated each other for nearly a thousand years.

  But, in the end, it wasn’t her problem, even though she felt responsible for it. Her problem was getting to the capital, liberating Colonel Stalker and the Imperial Residency ... and then pulling back to the garrison to wait. The planet would have to take care of itself. God knew that the Commonwealth couldn't impose a permanent solution on people so determined to wipe each other out.

  Shaking her head, Jasmine keyed her wristcom. “I want to see everyone who’s assigned to Operation Pony,” she said, shortly. They’d taken over a farmhouse to serve as a temporary HQ. “Report to HQ as soon as possible.”

  ***

  General Abhey was mildly surprised that he still had a head on his shoulders. The Prince was not known for accepting excuses for defeat and his father, according to the General’s family in the city, was looking for someone to serve as a scapegoat for the Prince’s failure. As far as he knew, the only thing that had saved his life was the simple fact that the Prince dared not draw any more attention to problems in the west than could be avoided. There were already questions being asked by the highest aristocrats in the land.

  He scowled down at the latest report from his observers in the field, mentally comparing it to the official bulletins being issued by the Prince – and found it somewhat lacking. The official story was that the enemy had been halted on the Ganges; unofficially, the enemy were already across the Ganges and heading east. He’d scattered small teams of soldiers throughout the countryside to impede the advancing spearheads as best as they could, but he doubted they would slow the off-worlders for long.

  The next report concerned the reaction of farmers to his desperate search for food and other supplies. Even the big estates, the ones run by the lower aristocracy, had been reluctant to allow the soldiers to take their chickens, pigs and goats, not to mention their seed corn. It was their livelihood that was being taken away, including their ability to replant their fields next year. But there was no choice, General Abhey knew; the off-worlders could not be allowed to take supplies from the countryside. Anything that slowed them down worked in his favour.

  He scowled, darkly. The smaller farmers – even the ones who had been former soldiers – were practically in open rebellion. Several of his agents had been murdered, others reported that food and seed corn had been hidden ... and they didn't even have the power to punish offenders. Some farmers had been killed, natura
lly; others would escape punishment until the off-worlders were defeated ... if, of course, the off-worlders were defeated. The way they were going, he was more worried than he cared to admit about Pradesh. What if they had one of their fabled city-busting bombs with them?

  The thought failed to cheer him up, so he looked at the latest message from the Prince instead. It was full of bombast, alternatively insisting that the off-worlders would be destroyed with ease or threatening him and his family if he failed to hold the line. General Abhey gritted his teeth, fighting down the urge to throw the message into the fire. Who knew who happened to be serving the Prince as well as their General? Spies could be everywhere, watching and waiting for the first sign of disloyalty.

  He crossed to the window and peered out over the city. Pradesh was constrained by the mountains, which meant that it had had to expand upwards instead. The city’s designers had produced a series of towering apartment buildings, all of which were crammed with refugees from the farms, but there wasn't enough room for all of them. Even the streets were clogged with people; Pradesh, once the cleanest city on the planet, was threatening to turn into a disease-sodden wasteland.

  It was heavily defended, he told himself. He had four thousand soldiers dug into the buildings to the west, while they’d armed and given basic training to thousands of refugees ... who could, at the very least, soak up bullets aimed at his trained men. Their families, of course, had been secured and were held in a basement to the east, just to ensure they remembered which side they were on. But, in truth, if he'd had any hope of them making a difference, he would have lost it after the results of the first battles.

  Everything he could muster had been massed to hold the line. There were guns, mortars and even a pair of helicopters, carefully preserved for this battle. He’d even had IED teams emplacing weapons, although there had been four accidents already before the enemy even began their offence. And he’d even placed human shields in strategic locations. It seemed impossible that the off-worlders could just push through the defences, but so far they’d smashed every force that stood up to them. He knew he had few reasons to be hopeful.

  In the distance, he saw smoke rising up in the west ...

  They’re not far away, he thought, bitterly. They’re not far away at all.

  Cursing the Prince under his breath, he strode out of his office and down towards the temples, where a giant statue of the city’s patron god glared out over the fortifications. It had been a long time since he'd entered a temple willingly, no matter where he’d been, but today he had the feeling that an offering of food and drink to the god would be appropriate. If nothing else, it would show his confidence ... and, perhaps, if the gods really did exist, remind them which side they were supposed to be on.

  The priests were already praying for victory, leading the city’s upper-caste women in a complicated prayer. He’d ordered the city’s official priests to follow the official position and, so far, they were obeying ... which was more than could be said for some of the others. Several of them had started ranting and raving to packed crowds, proclaiming the off-worlders to be the punishment of the gods on a disobedient planet. The General had felt a pang of guilt at their words – he had paid no attention to the gods himself, whenever it could be avoided – but he’d still had to have the priests dragged away and locked up. They couldn't be allowed to encourage the fatalism spreading through the city. Even the ones who lashed themselves publically, offering their blood in recompense for sins against the gods, were dangerous.

  He paused, staring at the women. Their devotion shamed him; they knew what fate awaited them if the city fell, yet they were still praying to the gods instead of sinking into despair. Who knew? If they prayed hard enough, perhaps the gods would help. If they were real, of course. The giant golden statue, only a few metres shorter than the one in the capital, was only a representation of the god. They might be elsewhere, but watching, always watching.

  And if they don’t help, he thought, cursing his own disbelief as well as his absent master, the off-worlders will destroy their order and replace it with chaos.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Instead, they saw fit to belittle Germany – doing the Germans a considerable injury – without ensuring that Germany would never be in a position to take revenge.

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

  Jasmine was barely aware of Emmanuel Alves entering the room. All of her attention was fixed on the Stormtroopers, the helicopter pilots and a handful of resistance fighters who could pass for enemy warriors. Absurd as it seemed, she had to admit that the enemy caste system – and its perverse obsession with skin colour – actually worked in their favour. A dark-skinned person with a weapon would look so badly out of place that guards would know to open fire.

  She had had her doubts about the Stormtroopers, even though she knew that the number of full-fledged Marines available to the Commonwealth was shrinking, either through assignment to specific positions or combat losses. They couldn't have undergone the intensive hell of the Slaughterhouse, let alone the implantation process; the technology to produce Marine-class implants simply didn't exist on Avalon. But they had proved themselves, she knew, and they’d have a chance to prove themselves again. It wasn't as if she had a company of Marines to throw into the breach.

  “This is Pradesh,” she said. The enemy city was both large and confined, the worst possible situation for urban combat. There would be hardly any room to manoeuvre, for one thing, and the enemy would know the territory far better than her people. “As you can see, the city blocks our path to the capital. It is effectively a bottleneck. We cannot go around it. We have to go through it.”

  They knew all that, of course, she reminded herself. But she needed to say it out loud.

  “They have sealed their gates and stopped taking people in from the west side,” she continued. “However, they are still taking in people from the east. This gives us an opportunity to get a handful of infiltrators into the city. Your mission will be to gain entry, then hit the defenders from the rear. Find the enemy CO and assassinate him, sow chaos as opportunity arises ... you know the drill. Anything to cripple their defences and make it easier for us to gain control of the city.”

  She looked over at the resistance fighters. “You’ll have to do the talking,” she said, hoping that they could understand her. Yin had sworn he’d find her men who spoke Imperial Standard, but not all of his promises had been worth something. “Can you pose as soldiers long enough to remain undetected?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the leader said, in passable Imperial Standard. He still thought she was a guy ... if it helped them take her seriously, so much the better. “We deserted from the army long ago, but we still know how to act like soldiers.”

  Jasmine kept her face expressionless. She hated this, hated relying on allies who might be a broken reed ... but the only alternative was a frontal assault on the city’s defenders. The results would be a bloodbath far in excess of any recent battle, apart from Han. But then, if Pradesh was so heavily defended, she hated to think what hitting their capital city would be like.

  One problem at a time, she told herself, sternly.

  “Good,” she said. “The helicopters will drop you off on the other side of the mountains, before daybreak. How do you plan to convince them that you’re legit?”

  The leader snickered. “There are always stragglers from every forced march,” he said, darkly. “No one will be surprised if we claim to have been left behind.”

  Jasmine snorted. How could such an undisciplined army hope to survive? She knew exactly what the Drill Instructors would have said if she’d fallen too far behind, probably after giving her a kick up the backside to force her to move faster. After all, just because soldiers were slowing down didn’t mean that the enemy forces in pursuit were going to slow down.

  But it did explain some of the odder skirmishes her forces had reported as they closed in on Pradesh. They’d overrun ene
my squads who had fired off a few shots for the honour of the flag, then surrendered. If they weren't used to moving quickly – Jasmine knew from experience how hard it could be to retreat if one wasn't used to falling back – they might not have been able to break the habits of a lifetime before it was too late. And if it worked in their favour, she wasn't going to complain.

  “Volunteers only,” she said, addressing the Stormtroopers. “No one will hold it against you if you back out.”

  Somehow, she wasn't surprised when the entire squad volunteered for the operation.

  ***

  “You think they can see us coming?”

  Sergeant Andrew Wyrick considered the question as the attack helicopter lifted up into the darkening sky. The locals didn't seem to have any form of radar, not even the standard air-search radars that were normally attached to all military deployments. Indeed, the only form of sensor anyone had seen them deploy was heat-seeking missile heads that had been fired at various helicopters. In theory, cloaked in darkness as they were, the helicopters should be invisible.

  “Depends if they have any passive sensors,” he said, finally. Flying in unfamiliar territory would require them to use the radar to navigate – and a passive sensor rig could pick up on it and track them without betraying its location. “Toggle the sensor network; I don't want any of the transports using their own radar. Let them think that we’re just on a roving patrol.”

  He peered down at the darkened landscape, noting the near-complete absence of lights west of Pradesh. The city itself was a glow against the horizon, as if they were trying to mock the advancing off-worlders by not turning off the lights. He couldn't help eying it nervously, even though he knew that they would be giving the city a wide berth. There were horror stories of helicopters that had been illuminated by lights on the ground – and then shot down by enemy guns.

  The helicopters – three attack helicopters, two heavy transports – climbed higher as they headed southwards, moving further inland. According to orbital observation, there was hardly a remaining settlement for seventy miles, not after the enemy had started scorching their own planet to prevent croplands and farm animals from falling into rebel hands. He shuddered – the savagery of the war far outmatched anything on Avalon – and then steered the helicopter east, heading over the mountains. There was no sign of lights amidst the rocky peaks either, just pockets of air turbulence that made the helicopter shake angrily. He was used to it, but he couldn't help wondering how the resistance fighters were coping. It seemed that none of them had flown before.