He tore the map off the table, folded it up and stuck it in a pouch, then led the way into the next room. Several other officers were standing there, staring at the raiders as if they’d seen monstrous ghosts. Gareth bit down on what he wanted to say and simply shot them in the head, one by one. One of them tried to surrender, but Singh ignored it, blowing the man’s head off with a single shot. Gareth found it hard to blame him.
“They’re confused out here, sir,” the observer reported. “But I think someone is trying to organise them.”
Gareth smiled, coldly. Let them try to organise a counterattack when their CO was dead and there was a major attack pushing in from the west. He knew from talking to Singh that the local troops were not expected to show any initiative; hell, it was quite possible that most of them hadn't even been issued any ammunition for their weapons. It seemed absurd, but he had to admit that the enemy commanders might have a point. Some of their press-ganged soldiers would happily shoot them in the back, rather than turn their guns on the enemy.
Still, there was no point in sticking around. He pulled a thermal grenade off his belt and set the timer, then emplaced it in a cabinet of paperwork, then waved to Singh and the rest of the troops. They’d definitely outstayed their welcome.
“Targets of opportunity,” he muttered, once they were outside the building. The observers had called in a handful of shells from the big guns, scattering the forces massing in position to see and interdict their escape. Behind them, the building was already starting to burn, destroying the files the enemy CO had collected. “Let’s see what we can find.”
***
Michael heard the chanting as he advanced into the city, even over the thunderous sound of the gunfire from the Landsharks. He glanced at Sergeant Grieves, who seemed equally perplexed; neither of them could pinpoint the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from all around them. And then he saw the first wave of men hurling themselves towards the advancing soldiers.
My God, he thought, stunned. They’re mad!
They charged, firing as they came. Michael stared for a long moment, then barked a command. The Warriors opened fire with their machine guns, scything down the men like blades of grass, but others kept coming, running right into the teeth of their fire as if they honestly didn't care about their lives. Michael fought the urge to be sick as they were ripped apart, blood and guts showering everywhere ... and still more came. They seemed unstoppable.
“Mortar strike,” he snapped into his communicator. “Danger close; I say again, danger close.”
There was a pause, then shells started to fall ahead of them. The lines of enemy suicide attackers seemed to vanish, the last of them shot down by the Warriors seconds after they entered range. Michael stared in disbelief at the sight in front of him; the streets were literally awash with blood, a handful of survivors moaning among the blood and guts. He honestly couldn't understand how anyone had survived. Dear god, not even the cruellest pirate had ordered his men into such a bloodbath. Behind him, he heard several of his men puking their guts out.
It burned at him not to be able to advance, but he knew that his squad had been badly shaken by the experience. He tapped his communicator, requesting reinforcements, then ordered them to fall back to a defensible location. They needed time to recuperate.
Somehow, he had the feeling that they weren't going to get it.
***
“They used human wave attacks?”
“Yes, Brigadier,” Major Adamson reported, through the communications network. “There were thousands of them, mainly untrained civilians. Three of our squads were actually overrun and ...”
Jasmine could fill in the blanks. “Destroyed, I presume,” she said. She remembered Han and shuddered. “Are they hopped up on something?”
“Unknown,” the Major admitted. “It’s quite possible, but we won't know until we get the results from blood testing.”
“Get samples back to the medics,” Jasmine ordered. Han had been bad ... but she'd been a newly-minted Rifleman then, not the CO. She’d never really been able to comprehend the full horror of the nightmarish battle until afterwards, when all of the after-action reports and assessments had been distributed. No wonder the old sweats had been so glad to be redeployed back to Earth. “And then move reinforcements up to hold the line.”
“The rebels want to add their own forces to the mix,” Buckley offered. He gave her a long look. “They might be able to take some of the pressure off us.”
Jasmine considered it, briefly. At best, the rebel forces were light infantry, ill-suited to the concrete hell Pradesh was becoming. But she knew that she didn't have many reinforcements on hand, certainly not without drawing down the patrols sweeping the roads for bombs and other unpleasant surprises. And it would allow the rebels to feel as if they were making a contribution.
“Tell Yin that he can funnel his people in, but make sure that there’s a fire controller with each group,” she ordered. “If they get into real trouble, we can fire covering shells to get them out.”
“Understood,” Buckley said.
***
The ammunition dump was poorly defended, much to Gareth’s surprise. But then, most of the enemy soldiers were running around trying to hunt down the insurgents or fighting to prevent the CEF from breaking in. He attacked at once, leading his team to shoot down the guards and take possession of the dump, then glanced inside. It was a minor miracle, he realised a moment later, that the enemy hadn't had a major disaster already. They’d stacked explosives and detonators together.
“Give me a moment,” he muttered, as he rigged up a timer. It didn't take long to produce a basic IED. “Let’s go.”
He led the way out and into the side streets, brushing past countless refugees who were trying to hide from the fighting. Moments later, there was a colossal explosion as the ammunition dump went up, shaking the ground hard enough to smash windows and send fragile buildings crumbling to the ground. He keyed his communicator, sending in a report, then led the team into a building to take a breather before launching the next offensive.
“Move towards the front,” the CO ordered, finally. “The rebels are taking the lead.”
***
Offhand, Andrew couldn’t recall seeing a more wretched city. He'd been in Camelot during the battle and he'd thought that was bad, but this was far worse. A third of the city seemed to be on fire as the CEF and its rebel allies pushed their way inwards, while the remainder seemed to be in absolute confusion. The colossal fireball that billowed up from the city a moment later sent the helicopter wobbling unsteadily through the sky for a moment, before Andrew regained control and peered down, looking for likely targets.
There were none – or, at least, it was impossible to pick them out. A tidal wave of refugees seemed to be fleeing the city, heading east towards the capital. He found himself hoping that they found some safety, although he knew that it was unlikely. They’d be a plague of locusts swarming out all over the land, eating all that they could find ... it wouldn't be long before starvation threatened the population.
“Picking up laser pointers,” Briggs reported. “Our teams on the ground are reporting in. They want strikes ASAP.”
Andrew scowled. Firing into a burning city, with visibility a joke under a haze of smog ... it wasn't something he was comfortable with. But they had their orders. They just had to hope that the Forward Air Controllers knew what they were targeting.
“Fire,” he ordered.
***
“They’re fighting like demons, but they’re no good at clearing houses,” Major Adamson reported. “No sense of tactics at all.”
Jasmine nodded, watching the live feed from the drones. The rebel fighters were brave, no doubt about it, and the prospect of victory forced them forward ... but they didn't have the slightest idea how to conserve their strength. It was as if they’d forgotten how to think in the midst of fighting, of finally getting a chance to wrap their hands around enemy necks.
/> At this rate, there won't be much left of the city by the time we’re through with it, she thought. The FACs kept calling down strikes on buildings that were defying the rebels, blasting them into rubble ... and often killing civilians in the process. Jasmine would have offered a truce long enough to evacuate the civilians, if she'd thought that the locals would accept it. But she knew that they would have only taken it as a sign of weakness.
There were a handful of prisoners ... but, compared to previous battles, only a handful. The intelligence staff were interrogating them now, trying to determine what had made them surrender and the others hold out. It would be nice to think that they would come up with something that they could use to encourage a surrender, but Jasmine knew better than to hope too much. The odds were against it.
“Cycle up our reinforcements,” she ordered, grimly. According to the drones, there were riots brewing in the untouchable holding pens on the other side of the mountains. They would be massacred if the CEF didn't break through to the pens in time. “And continue bombarding them with the offer to accept surrender.”
***
“All right, you lugs,” Michael bellowed, despite the tiredness pervading his body. The orders were clear, allowing no room for misinterpretation. “Get up; we’re going back in!”
His soldiers clambered to their feet with varying degrees of enthusiasm. They’d had a rest, some food and a drink, but they still looked tired. And yet there would only be rest once the fighting was over. In the distance, the thunderous sounds of guns, rockets and explosions only showed that the enemy had nowhere to run. They were trapped in the bottleneck, unable to retreat in good order.
“The rebels have done a good job of clearing some of them out of our way,” he added, as an update came in over the network. And they’d paid a heavy price to do it, he didn't add. “We now have to take part in the final push.”
Bracing himself, he checked his weapons and body armour – he’d found a bullet caught in his armour after leaving the FEBA, one he hadn't even noticed hit him – and then led his men back to the war.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the meantime, the Allied coalition against Germany was allowed to lapse. America went into isolation, Italy (unsatisfied with its booty from the war) switched sides, France and Britain drifted apart and – war-weary – refused to stand up to Hitler when he could have been stopped relatively easily. The net result was a refought war and a devastated continent.
-Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.
The news from the front fell into two categories. There were the official updates from the Prince’s commanders, which proclaimed great victories, and the more useful messages from his spies, which warned that Pradesh was slowly falling to the off-worlders. Somehow, Sivaganga Zamindari was unsurprised when the Prince’s invitation to hear the reports of the battle as they came in was rescinded. The Prince wouldn't want his allies to hear the news of his defeat.
But it did allow him a chance to pay a call on the Rajah. No one dropped in on the Rajah without an appointment, but requesting an interview might have tipped off the Prince that Sivaganga was planning to go behind his back. Eventually, he announced his intention to request the Rajah’s blessing for the betrothal of his son to the daughter of another aristocrat and departed for the palace. If the Prince suspected something, he did nothing to prevent the Rajah from agreeing to the interview.
The Rajah’s palace was heavily guarded, he was relieved to see. Armed guards stood everywhere, watching new arrivals suspiciously; Sivaganga was searched twice before he was even allowed to enter the building, then escorted up the stairs and into the smaller appointment chamber by two burly eunuch guards who watched him closely at all times. They took his sword, shoes and even his headgear before allowing him to step inside ... and he was grimly aware of their presence, even after he faced the ‘Rajah’ for their private appointment. It was far too likely that one of them might have been pushed into spying for the Prince.
He wished, as he went through the series of elaborate bows, that he could speak to the Rajah alone – and indeed, by the standards of the aristocracy, he was. But the guards and servants had eyes and ears; ignored by their masters, they could go anywhere and hear anything. He wanted to ask the Rajah to send them away, but he dared not even raise the topic with his monarch. It would have ensured his immediate execution.
“My Lord and Master,” he said, as he completed the bows with a prostration that left his head just under the Rajah’s foot. “I must talk with you on an urgent matter.”
The Rajah eyed him calculatingly. No one stayed Rajah without cunning, courage and a certain amount of ruthlessness, not when there were so many who wanted to be Rajah themselves. The elderly man had to watch his son carefully, knowing that one day his heir might become impatient and seek to take the throne by force ... and then there were other aristocrats who thought that their blood made them better candidates for the throne. It was a cutthroat system, Sivaganga knew, one that encouraged distrust and suspicion. There were times, he had to admit, when he wondered if there might be a better way.
“Talk,” the Rajah ordered, waving him upright.
Sivaganga settled back on his knees with a sigh of relief. His body had felt older, somehow, as the news of the first defeats had started to flow in from the west. Prostrating himself in front of his master was painful, all the more so as he knew the Rajah’s power was starting to crumble. But was the Rajah himself aware of it? What had his son told him?
He took a long breath and began. “My Lord and Master, the news from the front is not good,” he said. “Pradesh is on the verge of falling to the off-worlders. Once the city is gone, there are no defence lines in place between Pradesh and the capital – and your Royal Person.”
The Rajah’s face showed no expression. Sivaganga wondered, bitterly, just what was going through the Rajah’s mind. He wasn't ignorant, unlike the untouchables; he would have noticed that the locations of the staggering off-worlder defeats were constantly moving eastwards, towards his capital. The mountains might have blocked most of the rumours from the west, but enough had made it through to make the population restive. And there were eager young aristocrats already sharpening their knives.
“They have also been arming and training rebels,” he added. Their intelligence did have a good idea of what had been stockpiled in the off-worlder garrison. If the rebels gained access to the armoury, they would become unstoppable. “Right now, we must start considering that the war may not develop to our advantage.”
The Rajah leaned forwards. “Are you saying that we have lost?”
Sivaganga heard someone gasp behind him. He didn't look round.
“The off-worlders will find new recruits when they break through the mountains,” Sivaganga said. “We will have to arm men who are ... unlikely to serve us with great enthusiasm, or recruit more household troopers from the aristocracy. They are unlikely to slow the off-worlders down until they reach the capital – and a fight in the capital would utterly tear the city apart.”
He didn't add – because he knew that the Rajah would know – that the loyalty of the aristocracy would almost certainly collapse. Instead of sending their troops to join the defence of the planet, they would see to their own safety – or, perhaps, seek to topple the Rajah and try to come to terms with the off-worlders. What did they have to lose?
“Let Us assume that you are correct,” the Rajah said, after a long chilling moment. “What do you propose that We do?”
“Seek a truce, now,” Sivaganga said. It was, effectively, throwing the Prince to the wolves ... but it wasn't as if the Rajah was short on sons. They just weren't old enough to be named as heirs to the throne. “Tell the off-worlders that we will pay reparations, provided that they leave your dynasty in control. Offer them whatever they want – your daughters, your wealth – in exchange for survival.”
The Rajah stared at him long enough for Sivaganga to wonder if he’d gone too far
. Offering the Rajah’s daughters to the off-worlders was bad enough, but surrendering his wealth – the source of his power – was worse. Without it, the Rajah’s position would be crippled. He would have problems recruiting more soldiers, which would make him vulnerable to an internal coup.
“If your assessment of the situation is correct,” the Rajah said, finally, “it is already too late.”
“We still have something to bargain with,” Sivaganga said. “They would have to batter their way into our city in time to prevent us from destroying the Imperial Residency. We could use that as leverage against them – and once the forces have stopped advancing, we can keep talking sweetly to them until they leave the planet. And then we can settle accounts with the rebels.”
He knew that wasn't going to be easy. Even if the off-worlders left the planet completely, there would still be years of fighting ahead – and no guaranteed victory. Perhaps it would be best to come to a truce with the rebels ... but he knew that the Rajah would never even consider the possibility. They were nothing more than untouchables, after all. There was no point in treating with them as equals.
The Rajah considered the proposal. Sivaganga felt a moment of pity; his son controlled most of the military now, placing him in a particularly strong position. Even if he accepted the peace proposals, the Prince would still feel betrayed. It was quite likely that he would seek to take power for himself immediately.
And he can't be killed, because that would leave the Rajah without a strong male heir, Sivaganga thought, grimly. His death would leave the Rajah vulnerable until his other sons reach their majorities.
“We will inform Our son that We will send representatives to the Residency,” the Rajah stated. “But We must obtain a settlement in line with Our dignity.”
Sivaganga braced himself. “Most Humble Lord,” he said, taking his life in his hands, “you may not have any dignity when the off-worlders reach your city.”
The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores... Page 32